


Rising Son

by SandM1827



Series: Charming Wayward Sons [1]
Category: Sons of Anarchy, Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Chris Argent's A+ Parenting, Humor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Melissa McCall's A+ Parenting, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:26:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 337,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandM1827/pseuds/SandM1827
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I stopped giving a shit about three supernatural crises ago. Join me in indifference and apathy, it'll lower your blood pressure."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Gif set: [Rising Son](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/146529371724/charming-wayward-sons-verse-rising-son-rising)  
> Chapter titles: The titles will usually be the same as the episode(s) they are set in. For example, this is set in the PIlot episode of Sons of Anarchy, pre-series for Teen Wolf, and between seasons two and three of Supernatural, so I just called it Pilot. And it is sort of is the beginning of the very long Verse that [Demonpixie1](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Demonpixie1/pseuds/Demonpixie1)/[ripped-up-jeans-and-glitter](http://ripped-up-jeans-and-glitter.tumblr.com/) and I plotted out.
> 
> There is dialogue taken straight from the Sons of Anarchy Pilot for a few scenes in this, and some of it's been altered slightly to allow for another characters presence in that scene.
> 
> There is an [Info Page](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/charmingwaywardsons), it may help with any confusion you may have, if it doesn't feel, free to send me an ask on tumblr or in the comments section.
> 
> Juice & Stiles: They are together later on in the Verse, but not in this story. It's pre-Juice/Stiles. They will flirt, though.

Jax trudged out of the clubhouse, mulling over Clay’s instruction to get Opie onboard with club business. He wondered if his stepfather knew what a tall order it was that he handed Jax, to force him to convince Opie to pull away from his family and return to the club in the capacity of explosives expert. Jax wanted Opie back in the fold as much as the next person, but he did not want it to be at the expense of Opie’s family.

“Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand down his face tiredly.

He dropped down on the picnic bench next to the boxing ring and tried to formulate a plan that wouldn’t end with Opie losing Donna and the kids or going back to jail. He wanted to believe there was a way for all of them to deal with the current Mayan problem without risking their lives or freedom, but in his heart, he knew it was bullshit. The thought made him want to tear his hair out, the only thing that spared his locks was his phone ringing in his pants pockets.

“Oh, what now?" He grunted as he brought the device to his ear. “What?”

 _“It’s good to hear from you too, sunshine.”_ Dean drawled sarcastically. _“Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”_

“Fuck you.” Jax said halfheartedly. “You are the reason I haven’t been sleeping.”

 _“Awe. Are you having dirty dreams about me?”_ The hunter chuckled. _“Must have been good if they are keeping you up all night.”_

“No, asshole. I’ve been fucking worried about you.” He wished it were naughty dreams keeping him awake at night. “You can’t call to tell me your brother has gone missing and then go dark on me.”

_“Shit. I’m sorry.”_

“Is Sam okay?” Jax really hoped he was, for Dean’s sake. “Did you find him?”

 _“Yeah. Yeah, I found him.”_ Dean murmured hollowly. _“We got him, Jax. Me and Dad, we got the demon who killed my mom.”_

“You and your dad?” The statement caught Jax off guard, John Winchester had died months ago. “I mean, it’s great news, you finally got the thing that killed your mom. I know how much that meant to you and your family. It’s the dad thing, though. How did your dad help you?”

 _“A gateway to Hell was opened and he crawled out of the pit to save Sam and me.”_ Dean explained. _“He held the demon at bay so I could kill it.”_

“Holy shit.” It took a special kind of strength, one Jax was sure only a parent could muster, to climb out of Hell to protect someone you loved.

 _“He looked happy when it was over, Jax.”_ The hunter acknowledged sullenly. _“He smiled at us, Sam and me. He smiled at us and then he just disappeared. He was just gone.”_

“Are you okay?” He couldn’t imagine seeing his deceased father standing in front of him, only to have him be gone again, was an easy thing for Dean, especially given how much he loved his dad. “I don’t mean physically.”

 _“I’m okay, Jax.”_ Dean claimed and Jax almost believed him. “ _What about you? What’s going on there?”_

“Nothing much.” It all seemed unimportant compared to what Dean had been through. “Our warehouse blew up, courtesy of the Mayans.”

_“Shit. Is everyone whole?”_

“We’re good.” Thankfully, none of the club members had been at the warehouse at the time. “It’s just bullshit, Dean, nothing for you to worry about.”

_“You sure?”_

“Yeah.” Jax didn’t want Dean to stress over something that wasn’t his problem. “It’s been a while, man. You gonna be heading my way soon?”

 _“You miss me or something?”_ Dean inquired lightheartedly.

“Yeah. I do.” Jax was man enough to admit that. “You coming by or what?”

 _“I gotta talk to Sam and Bobby, but I think I can slip away for a day or so.”_ The hunter had earned a break. _“I could probably be there tomorrow afternoon, maybe a little later if I stop to sleep.”_

“You will stop to sleep.” It was a twenty-five hour drive from the Singer place to Charming, and Jax did not want the other man to fall asleep at the wheel.

 _“Yes, Mom.”_ Dean agreed in a mocking tone.

“Speaking of moms,” Jax watched his own mother’s Cadillac come to a screeching halt in the TM parking lot. “Gem’s here. I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

_“See you tomorrow.”_

“Jackson,” Gemma climbed out of her car and slammed the door shut. “I tried calling you.”

“What is it?” He asked worriedly.

“Wendy and the baby.”

* * *

 

There was an unwritten rule at the sheriff’s station that said Stiles was not permitted to be left alone in his father’s office for any amount of time. He had a bad habit of reading case files, which was apparently frowned upon. They couldn’t fault him for it really, the files were in plain sight, right there in a locked drawer that he happened to have a key to.

“Get out of my desk, Stiles.” His father ordered as he stepped into the office, not even glancing up from the file in his hands. “Which deputy did you slip past to get in here, while I was out?”

“The one who was busy stealing confiscated weed out of the evidence locker.” Stiles didn’t really have to slip past anyone, he strode right in like he had unrestricted access to the place. “I made a citizen’s arrest and locked him up in a holding cell after Deputy Graeme’s let me book him. His badge and service pistol are on your file cabinet.”

“I’ll take care of him after we eat.” The older man set the file on the desk beside the containers of food Stiles had brought. “Get out of my chair, please.”

“Yep.” Stiles made quick work of switching from his dad’s seat to the one on the opposite side of the desk. “So what was your call out?”

“None of your business.” It was the same line his dad always gave for open investigations. “You know, I missed you this summer, kiddo.”

“I missed you too, Pops.” He had spent his summer vacation in Charming, like he did every summer, and hadn’t found much time to return home for check-ins.

“And I appreciate you bringing me lunch.” He opened a container of salad and seemed to regret his declaration of appreciation. “But I assumed you’d be hanging out with Scott. You’ve been home for a week and you’ve either been here, scavenging through my case files, or vegging out in front of your computer, yelling at Juice through a headset while eating cheetos and drinking red bull.”

“Still sour that I wouldn’t let you have any of those cheetos, huh?” He joked, earning a scowl from his father. “Juice and I had a very important mission to finish in that game. And Scott has been busy working out in preparation for lacrosse season. I’m ninety-eight percent sure he believes if he beefs up enough, his asthma will vanish and he won’t nearly die when Finstock has us run suicides.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am proud of you for participating in school activities, like sports. Being a member of the baseball team was the best part of my high school experience.” That was easy for him to say, he was the star of his school baseball team. Charming High still had his picture up in the trophy case. “Wouldn’t you be happier playing a sport you actually like to play?”

“You mean, a sport that I’m good at?”

“The only reason you aren’t good at lacrosse is because you don’t like it, so you don’t apply yourself at practice.” His dad reasoned. “You play in that summer baseball league in Charming, and you love it. Why don’t you try out for the baseball team at school?”

“’Cause our baseball team sucks.” Not once, since Beacon Hills High had opened, had the baseball team made it anywhere close to being champions. “I didn’t play baseball this summer. I helped Donna coach Kenny’s team. And all the time I spend on the bench during lacrosse is extra study time. Finstock doesn’t care if I bring my books. He and I both know he is never gonna put me on the field.”

“Are you planning to take classes at the community college on top of your regular class schedule again?” His father asked with a hint of disapproval.

“I’ve got two afternoon classes scheduled and another two from the online course catalog.” It was the same thing he had done since freshman year, earning high school and college credits by taking head start classes at the community college. “I know you’re not happy about it, but I’m paying for it with the money I earn working at TM.”

“I don’t care about the money. If you had come to me, I would have found a way to pay for it.” His dad told him, and Stiles didn’t doubt him for a second. “I just don’t want you overloading yourself. You have a lot on your plate.”

“I can handle it, Dad. I promise.” It he couldn’t, he was sure his dad or his brother would step in to tell him to slow down. “We both know I’m never going to get an athletic scholarship to a university, like you did. And I know the college fund you started for me when I was a baby was cashed out to pay for mom’s hospital bills.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles.” Guilt clouded his father’s features as his shoulders slumped in shame. “Any extra money I have goes into a new college fund for you. It’s not a lot, but it’s a start.” 

“I can get an academic scholarship. I _will_ get an academic scholarship.” He hadn’t been working his ass off in school for nothing. “But if I don’t, the new college fund will be a good start, and I can get student loans for the rest.”

“There’s always Gemma.” His dad mentioned. “She never paid any child support for you. She can pay your college tuition.”

“I’ll let you bring that up to her.” He snorted just as his phone nearly vibrated off the desk, _‘Mommy Dearest’_ flashing on the caller ID. “You spoke the name and summoned the devil.”

“My apologies.” The older man rolled his eyes.

“You sound real sorry.” Stiles grumbled and grudgingly answered the call. “Hello?”

 _“You need to come home.”_ Gemma snapped in a rush of breath. _“Jax needs you.”_

“What happened?” He shot out of his chair, grabbing for his keys, prepared to bolt to his Jeep in a moment’s notice.

 _“Junkie whore OD’d.”_ The matriarch snarled into the receiver. “ _They did an emergency c-section on the baby. You need to get here. Now.”_

“I’m on my way.”

* * *

 

Dean had the Impala loaded up and ready to go so he could make a quick getaway. He wanted to get to Charming as soon as he could, which meant leaving as soon as he had the chance. He had a feeling he would want to make a swift exit once he finished telling Sam and Bobby that he was taking the trip, he knew neither of them were going to be happy about it.

He found his brother and uncle in the Singer library. They were seated at the desk, heads ducked over the books spread out in front of them. It was the same position the pair had been locked in since they returned from Cold Oak.

“I’m headed out.” He made a show of twirling the Impala keys in his hands. “I’ll be back in a couple days.”

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, lifting his gaze to meet Dean’s.

“Charming.” He just sold his soul, he only had a year to live, where the hell else would be want to go? “I think I’ve earned a few days off.”

“Of course you have, boy.” Bobby nodded.

“Do you really think now is the right time? We just started researching demon deals.” Sam gestured to the stack of books. “Getting you out of this deal should take precedence over your libido.”

“You are not going to find anything that is going to save me, Sammy.” Even if he did, it didn’t really matter. “If I try to worm my way out of this deal, you will die. I’m not going to take that risk.”

“So you’re not even gonna look for a way to save yourself?” Sam slammed a book closed angrily. “You’re just going to roll over and die?”

“I have a year, Sam.” It wasn’t a lot of time when it was all he had left. “A year to search for a way out of this, but if we can’t find a way then I want to make the most of the time I have left.”

“Going to Charming is you making the most of it?” His little brother raised an unimpressed brow. “I know you care about Jax and he cares about you, but he’s married.”

“Separated, actually.” Dean corrected, not that the difference would mean much to his brother. “In the process of getting divorced.”

“You’re his mistress, Dean.” Sam sneered in distaste. “How can you possibly be okay with that?”

“Whatever it is Jax and I have, has never been conventional.” They had never put a label on it. They were what they were. “For the record, he and I were doing our thing long before Wendy came into the picture.”

“He married her, not you.” Sam reminded, as if that was forgettable. “That should have put an end to things between you and Jax. It’s not fair to his wife or you.”

“Look, I know you think Jax and I keeping this thing up while he’s married to Wendy, is like us shitting on the sanctity of marriage or something,” In his brother’s mind, cheating was some kind of mortal sin, even if it wasn’t really cheating. “I don’t care. I’m not gonna apologize for holding on to the one thing that makes me happy.”

“Dean-“

“Shut up, Sam.” Bobby interjected before Sam could continue on with his rant. “Your brother wants to take a few days to himself and he is going to. What he does while he’s away is none of your business, just like what you got up to at Stanford was none of his.”

“My time at Stanford wasn’t his business? Is that why every other week Dad’s truck or the Impala were parked a block from my dorm?” Sam inquired accusingly. “Or, how about the motorcycle with reaper decals that did a drive-by twice a week?”

“Dad and I needed to know you were safe.” At Dean’s request, Jax had been happy to help out. He understood what it was like to worry about a little brother. “It’s not like we were stalking you. Jesus. What does that even matter now?”

“It doesn’t.” Bobby interrupted once more. “I ain’t gonna sit here and listen to you two idjits bitch. Sam, you’ve got research to do, so get to it. Dean, you were headed out, so-“

“So I should get going.”

* * *

 

Stiles took the elevator up to the NICU floor with the full intention of politely asking, or quite possibly sternly interrogating, the hospital staff for information on his nephew. Instead, he found himself drawn to the viewing window of the nursery, where Gemma was looking in on the infants that had recently been born into the world.

“How’s the baby?” He questioned as he came to stand beside her.

“Congenital heart defect and gastrochisis.” Gemma raked her nails through her hair anxiously. “They wanna fix his belly first and if he stabilizes they will fix his heart.”

“ _If_ he stabilizes…” It made since, he supposed, the baby was premature and incredibly ill, the doctors probably didn’t have much hope for him. “What are his chances?”

“The doctor said twenty-percent, and that’s stretching it a bit.” The older woman admitted somberly.

“It’s better than nothing, I guess.” At least the baby had some kind of chance, no matter how slim. “You okay, Gem?”

“I always am.” It was a non-answer, one she reserved for times when she did not want to reveal the storm of emotions raging inside of her.

“Where’s Jax?”

“He went to find the guy who sold crank to Wendy. Chibs and Bobby went with him.” Gemma let him know that Jax had back-up in what he was doing. “She’s in a room down the hall.”

“Okay.” Stiles wasn’t too worried about Wendy at the moment. “What is the baby’s doctor’s name?”

“ _Abel’s_ doctor is Dr. Namid.” Gemma watched him out of the corner of her eye. “Why? You gonna go harass him for updates?”

“I don’t harass people.” He simply questioned them, albeit sometimes forcefully if he felt it was necessary. “I’d just rather get updates from the source and not a nurse working the receptions desk, who only read what’s scrawled on a chart. I wanna see the sincerity on the doctor’s face, so I know he’s not spewing false hope.”

“And if he is, you need to prepare Jax.” Gemma turned away from the infants so they were face-to-face. “I’m his mother, I have to make him believe there is always hope, even if there isn’t. You’re his brother, you have to be realistic, to plan for the fall out of the worst outcome.”

“I know.” Ever since he was a little boy, his job had been to care for Jax when the world around them was crumbling. “Don’t worry about, Jax. I’ve got him.”

“I know you do, baby.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek and for once he didn’t jerk out of her space to avoid the show of affection. “You staying in town for the night?”

“Yeah.” School started soon, but if Abel didn’t pull through he would extend his stay, he would work something out with his teachers so his grades didn’t suffer. “Did this shit with Wendy go down at Jax’s place?”

“On the goddamn kitchen floor.” Gemma’s face twisted in disgust. “Since you brought her up, why don’t you go check on the junkie? Make sure she’s comfortable.”

“ _Comfortable_ , right.” Comfortable had to be the last thing anyone wanted Wendy to be feeling. “I figured you would want to say your piece with her first. And by piece, I mean threaten her life.”

“I’ll see her when the surgeons are done and we have a better idea of the baby’s condition, when we know he If he’s gonna make it or not.” Gemma stuck a hand in her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper with a room number written on it. “You can have the first crack at her.”

“I’m not as scary as you are.” He doubted he was capable of putting fear of god into Wendy quite the same way Gemma was.

“Wendy believes you two are buddies,” The older woman commented, and yeah, Stiles had played nice with his brother’s wife well enough to make her think they were friends. “You go in there and she will think you are there to comfort her.”

“That’s not going to happen.” He wasn’t in a very comforting or forgiving mood given his nephews current state.

“She doesn’t know that. It is always the hit from the person you least expect to take a swing at you that hurts the most.” Gemma gripped his shoulders and spun him to face the hall. “Go, my devil spawn. Make me proud.”

“You realize that you are the devil in this analogy, right?” He shrugged her hands off him. “I will chat with Wendy, then I’m gonna go clean up Jax’s house.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“All right. I’ll see you later.”

Wendy’s room was about halfway down the hall, past the bank of elevators. The door was ajar, as if she were waiting for someone, and Stiles would wager a guess as to whom that someone was. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, securing the lock so no one could interrupt them.

“Stiles,” Wendy reached a hand out to him as soon as he came into her view. “I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t think anyone would come. I know everyone must hate me now.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” He muttered under his breath. “I won’t ask how you’re feeling. I can figure that out for myself. You need to get help Wendy.”

“I know.” She nodded, wiping tears from beneath her eyes. “I will, I promise.”

“You promised last time.” Her promises didn’t hold any weight with him. “You don’t have a choice this time.”

“I know. I have to get clean for Abel.”

“That’s not what I meant.” As far as Stiles was concerned, Abel was not a factor when it came to Wendy’s sobriety. “You get clean or you go to jail.”

“You think the D.A. will file criminal charges?”

“Oh, I know he will.” Stiles was gonna make damn sure of that if Wendy didn’t agree to get her shit together. “Did you know that my grandfather, Henry Stilinski, was the Chief of Police here, before Unser?”

“Um, yeah, I think I heard Piney mention it once or twice.” She squirmed on the bed nervously, as if she could sense where the conversation was going.

“District Attorney Schiff was only an A.D.A. back then, but he and Henry had a pretty good relationship. His son and my dad played ball together in high school. I played on the summer little league team with his grandkids. Let’s call him a family friend.” Under certain circumstances, Stiles was not above asking a favor from a family friend in a position of power. “On my way down here, I gave him a call. I told him I had my doubts about your OD being an accident.”

“You did what?”

“Maybe you did it to get Jax’s attention. Maybe you decided you didn’t want to be a mother after all and thought a syringe full of crank would be a way to take care of that problem for you.” Stiles didn’t believe either of those theories, but it was what he could get the D.A. to believe that mattered. “He thinks he’s got a strong case for fetal abuse, or even attempted murder if he’s looking to make an example out of you.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt Abel!” Wendy cried out hysterically. “I wouldn’t do that! I love him!”

“After seeing the damage done to that kid, no one will believe you.” Once the doctor testified to the effects Wendy’s drug use had on her child, the judge and jury would see right through her crocodile tears and crucify her. If that wasn’t enough, there was always Plan B. “And with my statement, saying that I had overheard you threatening to harm your baby if Jax didn’t come back to you, you are looking at a very long stay behind bars.”

“I never said that!” She shouted, cheeks flushing crimson in anger. “That’s a lie! I never said that!”

“I’m the son of a sheriff with no record. You are a junkie that has a long rap sheet and multiple charges of possession.” He made a much more credible witness than her. “I’m willing to call D.A. Schiff back, get him to rethink the charges, on the condition that you go to rehab. If your sobriety doesn’t stick this time then I’ll leave you to the clubs mercy.”

“I forget sometimes,” She said through gritted teeth. “How much of Gemma’s son you really are.”

“That was your mistake.” He wouldn’t deny it, he was aware he had picked certain behaviors from the matriarch. “Rehab or jail, Wendy, it’s your choice.”

“I was always gonna go to rehab.” Wendy professed as she glowered at him. “You’re going to call the D.A., right? You’re gonna tell him you were mistaken-“

“No.” He would not admit to Schiff that he may or may not have given him the wrong impression in regards to Wendy’s true intentions. “I will encourage him to make a deal with you, recommend rehab instead of jail time. If you show that you’re remorseful, it might help keep you out of prison.”

“You’re a manipulative son of a bitch.” She spit at him disdainfully. “I’ve got some stuff in the stash drawer at home. If there’s an investigation and the cops search the place, I would _hate_ for any of this to blow back on Jax, seeing as he owns the house and all.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would be just heartbroken if Jax was held accountable for your actions.” He clucked his tongue and glared at her. “I’ll take care of it. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done a drug raid of the house after one of your OD’s.”

“I guess it’s not.” She deflated, dropping her gaze to the bedspread. “Before y-you go, can you just tell me if Abel is going to be okay?”

“No, I can’t. You chose crank over his wellbeing.” In his mind, she lost the right to know anything about that baby when she decided a fix was more important than his health. “Abel is no longer your concern.”

* * *

 

It was late when Jax made it to his house. His son’s health, along with his recent visit with Wendy, weighed heavily on his mind as he pulled his bike into the garage between his brother’s Jeep and his mom’s Cadillac. He balanced the helmet on the handlebars as he climbed off the motocycle and lumbered toward the door. He took a deep breath to prepare himself for whatever was waiting for him inside the house as he twisted the knob and stepped inside.

Gemma and Stiles seemed to have drawn an invisible line through the interior of the house, from the looks of things. Gemma had busied herself cleaning up the living room, while Stiles scrubbed the kitchen counters. If the lack of blood on the tile floor meant anything, it was that his brother had taken care of that first.

“It’s almost midnight.” He informed the pair as he kicked the door shut behind him.

“This place is a goddamn pigsty.” Gemma murmured as she tossed fast food wrapper into the trashcan.

“We were just straightening up a bit.” Stiles told him, and they all knew it was two-person job because cleaning was never Wendy’s strong suit. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my house.” He had every right to be in the house he paid for. “You guys don’t have to do this.”

“Look, I just want it to be livable.” His mom admitted. “Buy you some decent carpet. There are cigarette burns everywhere on this goddamn one.”

“Mom-“

“You need to get out of that clubhouse dorm room.” Stiles asserted as he rinsed a sponge in the sink. “You need to come back home.”

“Back home with your son.” Gemma added.

“For Christ’s sakes, stop cleaning, both of you!” He snarled at the mention of his son. “He’s not gonna make it.”

“What are you- What are you talking about?” Gemma stammered, eyes darting to Stiles briefly before returning to Jax. “What happened?”

“He was born with half a stomach and a hole in his heart. He’s gonna die.” The sting of his mother’s palm against his cheek did not shock him half as much as it probably should have.

“Don’t you say that!” The matriarch growled. “You are the only one this boy’s got. You don’t believe he’s gonna live, you might as well go down there and kill him yourself.”

His mother turned away from him with that, her way of giving him a minute to think over what she had said. She strode to the kitchen table, snatching the cigarettes off it and lighting one up. She took a long pull from the cancer stick and glanced over to her youngest son.

“Too harsh?” She asked his little brother.

“No. He needed to hear that.” Stiles came around from the kitchen and plopped down in a chair at the table, dumping a handful of drug paraphernalia, including thumb bags of white powder and needles, on top of it. “Found all that in the stash drawer, freezer, and various other hiding places around the house.”

“Goddamn it.” Jax sat down next to his brother and used an arm to drag the drugs closer to him, wanting them as far away from the kid as possible. “Stiles, it’s not your responsibility to clean up after Wendy. Don’t do it again.”

“I’ve been cleaning up after Wendy since before you knocked her up.” It was a true enough statement, Stiles had taken it upon himself to mop up Wendy’s messes since the first time Jax had brought her home and she’d puked all over the bathroom in the aftermath of a drunken night. “The sad part is, _that_ was entirely avoidable. I mean, for fucks sake, you are old enough to know how to use a condom, Jackson.”

“So were your dad and Gemma, but you are living proof that they didn’t.” Jax pointed out, taking far too much enjoyment in the way Stiles went a little green around the gills.

“Watch it.” Gemma cautioned as she pulled up her own chair.

“My conception should have been a warning to you, Jax. Always practice safe sex.” Stiles continued, undeterred by their mother. “And despite Gemma poisoning half of my DNA, my dad still loves me.”

“And people wonder why I gave you away.” Gemma snorted bemusedly.

“It’s nice that we can all laugh about that now.” Jax smirked and shook his head at how ridiculous that was.

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” Stiles grumbled before brushing off Jax’s comment. “The point is, we will love Abel, despite the Wendy of it all. Is that clear?”

“Mhm.” Whether Abel lived or died, Jax would always love him, even if he could never bring himself to say the words out loud.

“You need to go see him, Jackson.” Stiles urged carefully.

“I can’t.” He confessed, throat tightening at the mere thought of it.

“Why?” Gemma tilted her head inquisitively. “’Cause he’ll break your heart? It’s called being a father.”

“For how long? A day? A week?” How long would it be before his son succumbed to his poor health and Jax was left with nothing but a headstone?

“You know, the two of you,” Gemma gestured to he and Stiles. “Were born with that same heart defect your brother Thomas had. You both seem pretty sturdy to me.”

She knocked her fist gently against Jax’s chest, as if to prove how solid he was.

“I came through hell, landed on my feet.” Gemma started, holding out her cigarette to him. “Your father was hit by a goddamn semi, Jax. Dragged 178 yards. And that bastard lived for two more days. Tellers do not die easy.”

“No. We just die bloody.” It painted a grim picture of Jax’s future.

* * *

 

Dean barely had a chance to stretch out on the motel bed and take a breath before his cellphone rang. He groaned in irritation as he fished the device out of his jacket, expecting it to be his little brother calling to beckon him back to Bobby’s house to research the demon deal. He was pleasantly surprised to see Jax’s name lighting up the screen.

“Twice in one day,” He said in lieu of hello. “Normally, we’re lucky if we get to talk once in a week. Either we are having a really good day or a very bad one.”

 _“The latter, I think._ ” Jax mumbled low enough that Dean had to strain to hear him.

“I’m gonna go out on the limb here and guess your shitty day has nothing to do with the warehouse explosion you told me about earlier,” Dean mused, Jax hadn’t sounded that upset about it when they had spoken that morning. “What’s going on, man?”

 _“I, um, I have a son.”_ The world seemed as if they were ripped from his throat, rather than spoken willingly.

“Oh, uh, congratulations.” He thought he would feel a little awkward about it, but he was genuinely happy for Jax. “I didn’t know Wendy was that far along.”

 _“She’s not. She wasn’t.”_ Jax’s voice quivered as he spoke. _“Crank and pregnancy don’t really mix.”_

“Fuck.” Spikes of anxiety ratcheted up Dean’s spine. “The kid? Is he…”

 _“He’s so sick, Dean.”_ Jax’s breath hitched as he bit back a sob. _“The doctor said he’s got maybe a twenty-percent chance of survival.”_

“Twenty-percent is still something.” When it was your family on the line, you had to be optimistic. “You just gotta believe he will be okay, that he’s going to make it.”

 _“I can’t.”_ The other man whimpered. _“If I tell myself that he’ll live, he will die.”_

“Christ, Jackson.” That was a hell of a way to think, but honestly, Dean could understand it. “Your head is fucked right now. Whose wouldn’t be-“

 _“Everyone else around me.”_ Jax groused bitterly. _“Gem and Stiles are so calm and collected.”_

“They’re trying to be strong for you.” Those two were good at hiding their true feelings in favor of appearing as if they were unaffected by the chaos surrounding them. “They’re sticking close to you, right?”

 _“I’ll say so. I convinced Gemma to go home, but Stiles,”_ There was a static rustling over the line, Jax shuffling something around on his end. _“I think he’s afraid to let me out of his sight or something. When he was ready to sleep, he wouldn’t do it in his room. He’s curled up in my bed with me.”_

“He wants you to know he’s there.” Dean was sure the close quarters were as much for Stiles comfort as they were for Jax’s. “If he were in the same situation, you would be doing the same thing.”

_“That’s true.”_

“I stopped for the night.” He had gotten drowsy on the road and forced himself to pull into a motel for a couple hours of shuteye. “I can get back in the car-“

 _“No. No.”_ Jax was quick to shoot down that idea. _“You need to rest. I don’t want my son in the NICU and you in the ICU, because you fell asleep at the wheel.”_

“I’ll stay where I am for a few hours.” He could get some much-needed rest before heading out again in the morning. “I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to get there. I’m dragging a bit.”

 _“With everything that went down with Sam, and then seeing your dad again, you are bound to be exhausted.”_ Exhausted was putting it mildly. _“I wanna hear about that when you get here. I want more than just the highlight reel.”_

“I’ll tell you about it.” Dean would not give Jax the full story, but he would give him most of it. “Should I meet you at St. Thomas when I get to town?”

 _“Yeah, I might be there. If I’m not, someone will be there who can tell you where I am.”_ If Jax wasn’t at the hospital with his son, another member of the family would surely be sitting vigil. _“You should get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

“Yeah.” He wanted to offer Jax some kind of reassurance that the baby would be okay, but he knew any platitudes would be lost on him right now. “See you tomorrow.”

* * *

 

Jax woke up to the sound of a door slamming somewhere in the house. He sat up and rubbed the crust from his eyes, noting the other side of the bed was empty. He’d bet that since his little brother was no longer lying beside him, he was the one who had entered or exited the house.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw that it was late in the morning when he stumbled out of bed. He snagged his phone off the table and tripped over yesterday’s dirty laundry, as he followed the smell of freshly brewed coffee into the kitchen. He was so fixated on the prospect of caffeine that it took him a moment to register the door swinging open once more.

“Hey,” Stiles flashed him a smile as he carried two cloth bags of groceries in. “The cupboards were mostly empty, so I went shopping.”

“I see that.” There were three other bags full of food sitting on the counter. “You know, this nurturing thing you got going is one of the reasons Gemma thinks you’d make a great old lady.”

“If I don’t take care of you, no one will.” Stiles declared as he began unloading the items he’d bought.

“Fair enough.” He would argue that he could take care of himself, but his brother would call bullshit. “You should have woken me up.”

“You needed the sleep.” Stiles bit the inside of his cheek anxiously. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m fine.” He was still numb. “I should call the hospital, get an update on the kid.”

“I already did.” Stiles rapped his knuckles to a note on the fridge, where he had written the information the hospital had given him. “Dr. Namid is gonna fix Abel’s stomach today. I was gonna head over there in a little while, I have an errand to run first.”

“What errand?”

“I’ve got a couple things to drop off at Opie’s.” Stiles motioned to the door, toward the Jeep, presumably where those things were located. “Are you going to the hospital?”

“I have some things to take care of with the club.” There was no way he could sit at St. Thomas for hours and wait for some doctor to tell him if his son would live or die. “I’ll go by there tonight, when I’m done with everything.”

“Jackson,” Stiles sighed and stepped over to him, placing his hands on Jax’s shoulders to anchor him. “Do not shut that baby out, please. I know you are scared, but do not turn your back on your son. He needs you.”

“Stiles, I’m not…” He bowed his head as tears filled his eyes. “I’m not sure how to do any of this. I don’t have the slightest fucking idea how to be a father.”

“You know how to be a big brother, and a good one, if I do say so myself.” Stiles gave his shoulders a squeeze. “I think the age difference between us, and how you look after me while I’m in town, makes our relationship unique, in a way. I mean, you bought this house after I was born. You put together a nursery for me and changed my dirty diapers.”

“What’s your point?”

“You are not completely inept when it comes to the dad thing.” His brother pressed their foreheads together. “You’re gonna be a great dad. And if you struggle with it, then you can always ask Piney or my dad for advice.”

“I’ll do that.” He couldn’t think of two better remodels.

“Whatever you are doing with the club today, I know it’s going to be dangerous. It’s always dangerous.” Stiles nails dug into his skin through his shirt. “Just be safe, okay? Your heads not clear, no matter how much you think it is. Abel is going to be in the back of your mind all day. It’s gonna distract you. So just do your best to be safe, please.”

“I will. I promise.”

* * *

 

Stiles had been an unofficial member of the Winston family pretty much since birth, so he felt comfortable barging into their home uninvited, using the key he’d been given as a child to unlock the door. He traipsed through the house like he owned the place until he found the family gathered around the breakfast table.

“Morning everyone,” He announced his presence, lifting one hand off the box he was hauling in to give them a wave.

“Hi, uncle Stiles!” Kenny and Ellie echoed in greeting, both offering him toothy grins.

“Hey kids,” He dropped the box in the corner of the room and made his way to the table to give his niece and nephew each a hug.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Donna smiled at him. “You hungry?”

“No, I’m fine.” He never had much of an appetite when he was stressed.

“What’s all that?” Opie nodded to the box Stiles had brought in.

“They were having a sale on school supplies, so I picked some up for Kenny and Ellie when I went to get mine.” He had some extra money on his end of the summer TM paycheck, Gemma always gave him a little bonus before he went home to Beacon Hills. He wouldn’t think about why. “And my old backpack from last year, I thought Kenny might like it.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Opie grumbled, his pride obviously stung from Stiles doing something he should have been doing.

“I wanted to.” He knew Opie and Donna couldn’t really afford it. “And I’m not really doing it for free. Donna-“

“Your cookies are in the tupperware container on the top shelf of the pantry, hidden behind a bag of flour.” She waved her forked toward the kitchen. “Three dozen of them. I’m not sure why the hell you need so many-“

“I’m a growing boy.”

“Your mother’s secret triple chocolate cookies?” Opie shot his wife a wide-eyed look. “You don’t even make those for me! You say they take too long.”

“They do take too long.” Donna maintained. “Which is why I only make them once a year.”

“Yeah and you always make them for him.” Opie pointed an accusing finger at Stiles. “I’m your husband, these are your children-”

“And when is the last time one of you mowed the lawn?” She questioned curiously. “Those cookies are payment for the chores Stiles takes it upon himself to do around here.”

“That’s not fair.” Opie whined like a child. “You know what he does whenever you give him those? He sits in the corner of the clubhouse and eats the whole tub of them in front of us. Pop and Juice are the only ones he ever shares with. If the rest of us try to take one, he sprays us with a water bottle, like dogs.”

“That was one time.” Stiles interjected. “I was doing an experiment involving club members and a dog training manual, a successful one, actually. Piney and Juice got cookies because they weren’t acting like disobedient mutts like the rest of you.”

“Those little experiments are why I waited to bake the cookies until it was time for him to go back to Beacon Hills.” Donna told her husband. “Calm down. He won’t taunt you this time.”

“Anyway,” Stiles cleared his throat to signal a topic change in the conversation. “Opie, have you talked to Jax at all?”

“I spoke to him for a little while at lunch yesterday.” Opie divulged as he sipped his coffee. “Pop came by last night, told us about Wendy and the kid.”

“How’s the baby?” Donna asked, brows creasing in concern.

“Sick.” He still held out hope for his nephew’s recovery, despite the doctor’s predicted low survival odds. “He’s having surgery today, so I’ll be at the hospital.”

“You have school tomorrow.” Donna reminded him. “If it gets too late you’re gonna have to hand the reins over to Gemma so you can go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

“I can afford to miss a few days if I need to.” The beginning of the school year would be the best time to do it. “Hopefully, the surgery goes well and the doctors say the kid is out of the woods, then I won’t have to worry about missing any school.”

“He’s in everyone’s thoughts and prayers.” Donna assured him. “I can stop by the hospital when I get off work, I can keep you company.”

“No. I know you’re busy with last minute school stuff for your two monsters.” Stiles wasn’t the only one who was supposed to start school the next day. “But, um, I will have to go home eventually. I was wondering if you guys would keep an extra eye on Jax for me.”

“He’s gotta be a mess right now, and I’m sure he’s trying his damndest to hide it.” Opie said knowingly. “You don’t have to worry about him, Stiles. I got him.”

“I always worry.” When he didn’t have certain members of his family in his line of sight, he existed in a constant state of worry and agitation. “Thanks, though, for looking out for him. I really appreciate it.”

“I’ve been doing it since before you were born.” Opie remarked.

“Which is why you are the one I trust the most to do it.” Stiles wasn’t not ignorant to the fact that Opie was one of very few people that would not use Jax’s current weakness as a way to exploit him. “I should get going. I don’t want Abel to be alone.”

“Will they let you see him?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He wasn’t sure they would let anyone see the baby until after the surgery, except maybe Jax and Wendy. “Still, I want to be there for him. I’ll see you guys later.”

“I’ll be calling to see how everything is going and to see how you are.” Donna informed him. “Oh, and don’t forget your cookies or Opie will eat them all.”

“I’m not forgetting my special cookies. You know why they’re special Opie? ‘Cause she only makes them for me.” He stuck his tongue out at the other man. “Sucks doesn’t it?”

“Don’t be a shithead.” Donna chastised.

“Sorry.”

* * *

 

Dean arrived at St. Thomas much later than he expected to, a consequence of not setting an alarm and sleeping a hell of a lot later than he planned to. As it was, he didn’t wake or get on the road until after noon, and didn’t make it to the hospital until night fall. He was cursing himself for it as he stomped out of the elevator on the NICU/Maternity ward nearly running smack dab into Gemma on his way down the hall.

“You look murderous.” He observed, although that was kind of her default expression.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” She smirked and pressed her lips to his cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, sweetheart.”

“Me too.” He would rather be where Jax needed him than at Bobby’s doing useless research. “Jax around?”

“He’s finishing up club shit.” She folded her arms over her chest, her irritation for Jax’s lack of priorities showing in her posture. “He’ll be here when he’s done.”

“Okay.”

“How about you, baby? You doing okay?” She gave him a quick once-over, scrutinizing his appearance. “You look like crap.”

“It’s been a long week.” It had been a long couple of years, actually. “But I’m fine, Gem. I promise.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She retorted, choosing not to trust his assessment of himself. “I’m having a dinner soon. You will be there with Jax.”

“Yes, ma’am.” If he was still in town, there wouldn’t a force strong enough to stop him from getting a plate of Gemma’s home cooking.

“All right. I’ve gotta go have a _chat_ with Wendy.” Gemma shot a glare down the hall. “Stiles is camped out in the waiting room. Make sure he behaves. Security already threatened to throw him out once for cornering Abel’s doctor in a less than kind manner.”

“I’ll do my best to keep him in line.” It was a laughable thought, there were probably two people on the planet that could keep Jax’s little brother in line, and Dean sure as hell wasn’t one of them. “Whatever you do to Wendy, remember to make it look like an accident.”

“What am I, new?” She scoffed. “I know what I’m doing, darling.”

She was off without another word, stalking down the hall with a purpose. For a split second, Dean almost worried for Wendy’s safety. He shook off the concern when he realized Jax’s ex-wife didn’t deserve it, given what she had put the Teller family through.

The waiting area on that particular floor was on the opposite end of the corridor than the patient rooms. Stiles was right where Gemma said he would be, hunched over in a chair, eyes trained on a spot on the floor. The kid looked about as well as Dean felt.

“Hey,” He cuffed Stiles lightly on the back of the head as he dropped into the chair next to him. “You all right, man?”

“Always.” Stiles muttered, not sounding very convincing. “Jax mentioned you’d be showing up sooner or later. He’ll be happy to see you.”

“I should hope so.” He didn’t drive all that way for Jax to be disappointed. “How’s his boy doing?”

“Good, I guess. The surgery went well.” The younger man fidgeted with the long sleeves of his shirt. “The doctor thinks he’ll live.”

“That’s great news.” It was a switch from the twenty-percent odds he had the day before. “You don’t seem convinced.”

“I am. I just know he’s got a long road ahead of him and a lot of things can go wrong in that time.” Stiles was not the kind of person who took things at face value. He considered every possibility, never really settling on one without having all the available information at his disposal. “I can’t take the ‘Abel is going to be perfectly fine and everything will be sunshine and roses’ stance on this. Jax needs me to be neutral, in case it all goes south.”

“Guess that means Gemma is playing the role of hopeful and optimistic mother.” Dean wondered if that would have put JT in the despairing and cynical column, if he were still alive. “Does Jax know how the kid’s surgery went?”

“No. He’s not answering his phone. Oh, and I’m not answering mine anymore either, at least when your brother calls.” Stiles shoved his phone at Dean. “Seventeen calls from Sam. _Today.”_

“Shit. I’m sorry.” He cringed when he saw the recent call list on Stiles cellphone. “What did he want?”

“My help researching demon deals.” Stiles arched an inquisitive brow. “He was very insistent about it. He said if you weren’t going to save yourself, then we had to. He also asked me what I would do if I knew my brother was going to die.”

“Son of a bitch.” Of course Sammy would play on a fellow little brothers fears.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” The stern tone of Stiles voice suggested Dean had no other choice but to spill his guts. “You know, ‘cause I kinda got the impression that you are the one who made a deal with a demon.”

“Stiles…” Dean sighed and set his lips in a grim line. “I was going to tell you in a few months, because you need to know so you can be there for Jax once it’s done.”

“Tell me now.”

“You cannot tell Jax, not until after it’s done, after I’m gone.” If Jax knew beforehand, it was likely he would try to make some sort of counter-offer with the demon. “I need you to promise me that, Stiles.”

“I won’t say anything to Jax.” Stiles vowed, tracing a quick ‘x’ over his heart with his finger. “Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

“We went after the demon that killed my mom. Things happened and I’m not gonna get into all of it right now.” He didn’t think Stiles needed to know every single detail anyway. “Sam went missing and when Bobby and I found him…. I watched him get stabbed in the back. He-He died in my arms.”

“Oh my god.” Sensing his distressed state, Stiles didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him. “Y-You made a deal to bring him back.”

“I couldn’t let him die.” He already lost two of the people he loved most in the world, his mom and dad, he refused to lose Sam too. “He’s my brother.”

“I get it. I do.” Stiles rubbed soothingly circles over his back. “How long?”

“One year.”

“Okay.” The younger man pulled back, a calculating expression on his face. “Okay. A year. That, uh, that gives us some time to get you out of the deal.”

“No.” Damn it, he already had his own brother obsessing over that, he didn’t need Jax’s brother doing it too. “I’ll tell you what I told Sam, what the demon told me, if I try to break the deal, Sam dies.”

“You don’t want to risk your brother when you just got him back. I understand that.” Stiles acknowledged, tapping a finger to his chin as he formulated a plan. “Although, your feelings and opinions on the matter don’t mean a damn thing.”

“Like hell they don’t.” It was his life on the line, his feelings and opinions were the only ones that did matter.

“You didn't consider how Sam would feel when you made the deal-“

“Grateful. I thought he would be grateful.” Apparently, that was too much to ask for. “I did save his life.”

“Did you feel grateful when your dad made a deal to save yours?” Stiles countered hotly. “I understand why you did it, I would have done the same thing for my dad or Jax in a heartbeat, but I can also understand Sam’s point of view, probably more so.”

“So can I.”

“No, you can’t. You have never known that someone you loved was going to die and felt the helplessness of having nothing to do but sit by and watch it happen.” Stiles eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “You want Sam to just sit on his hands while the days tick off on the calendar? Do you realize how cruel that is? Even if he can’t find a way to save you, at least he’ll know he tried.”

“I didn’t really think about it that way.”

“I am going to coordinate with Sam, and come up with a solution to save your ass.” For someone who acted as if the research would just be something to keep Sam busy, Stiles seemed awfully confident that they would find a way to save him. “And you are gonna shut up and let us or I will tell Jackson everything. Do you have any idea what he would do?”

“He would make a deal to save me.”

“And I would make a deal to save him. He would make a deal to save me. You would make a deal to save him. Sam would make a deal to save you. You would make a deal to save him. We would end up right back where we started, at the beginning of a vicious cycle.” He wanted to think Stiles was exaggerating, but honestly, that all sounded about right. “We would be stuck in an endless loop until the demons got annoyed and killed us all out of spite.”

“All right. Fine. You and Sammy can do all the research you want.” He would be eternally grateful if they found him a way out of this mess, but he wouldn’t get his hopes up. “Your brother does not find out about any of it.”

“Then you might want to shut your mouth because here he comes.” Stiles subtly motioned to the blond sauntering down the hall toward them. “Jackson.”

“Hey.” Jax nodded as they both stood to greet him.“Been here long, Dean?”

“Nope.” Dean gave him a quick kiss. “You all right?”

“I don’t know.” Jax confessed and turned to his brother. “Am I?”

“Yep. The doctors think your son will pull through.” Stiles moved to give his brother a hug, only to stop short, furrowing his brows. “Are you hurt? Damn it, Jackson. I told you to be careful!”

“What?” Jax tracked Stiles gaze to a spot on his shirt that was stained red, barely visibly under his kutte. “Shit. No. It’s not- It’s not mine.”

“Christ.” Stiles shucked out of his too-big plaid over-shirt and held it out to his brother. “Cover yourself up.”

“Okay.” Jax did as he was told, taking off his kutte and slipping on the proffered shirt, buttoning it up to hide the fresh blood caked on the tee beneath it.

“I have school tomorrow, so I’m gonna take off.” Stiles inclined his head toward the elevators. “I had them put my number down in Abel’s file. They’ll call me if something happens.”

“You don’t trust me to keep you updated?” Jax quirked a brow at his younger brother.

“Not really.” Stiles said truthfully. “Not the way they can anyway.”

“Right.”

“Opie is going to check on you in the morning. I know you’ll be doing club shit most of the day tomorrow, but I’m gonna call between my classes to see how you are, and you will answer every time. Gemma’s having a dinner the day after tomorrow, I think, and you will be there.” Stiles listed off new items he had added to Jax’s schedule and set his sights on Dean. “I went grocery shopping this morning. Make sure he eats something before you guys go to bed tonight.”

“Yes, Dad.” Dean wouldn’t let Jax go hungry. “Have a good day at school tomorrow. Make good choices and don’t pick on the other kids.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.” Stiles cackled but sobered the moment he fixed his focus on his bother. “Call me if you need me. Okay?”

“I will.” Jax pressed is lips to his brother’s temple. “I love you, kid.”

“I love you too.” Stiles offered them a small wave before turning on his heels toward the elevators.

“It’s almost adorable how much of a mother hen he is.” Dean commented as he watched the younger man’s retreating form.

“Adorable bordering on annoying at times.” Jax jammed his hands in his pockets. “He means well…most of the time.”

“Yeah.”

“My son is gonna be okay.” Jax grinned proudly. “You wanna meet him?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

 

Previously, when Jax had thought about seeing his son, he’d been filled with nothing but dread. His mind had gone to the dark place where he had been so sure he would only be viewing his son’s body. Now, though, with the infant tucked away in a plastic box, he felt nothing but relief and an insurmountable amount of love.

“His name’s Abel.” He told Dean as they crowded around the incubator. “I hated it when Wendy told me. I hated that she gave him a name. It fits him, though, I guess.”

“It does.” Dean agreed. “He seems strong, Jax.”

“Who the hell knows where he got that from….” It sure as hell wasn’t from him or Wendy. “I hated Wendy so much when she told me she was pregnant. I wasn’t ready to be a father. I cut her out. I wasn’t there to see what she was doing.”

“Hey, what Wendy did isn’t your fault.” Dean’s hard tone left no room for argument. “Getting high was her choice. She would have found a way to do it, whether you were there or not.”

“I know you’re right, but…” He still believed there was _something_ he could have done to prevent things from getting as bad as they did.

“You can’t change the past, Jackson.” Dean said sadly. “You’re a father now. And, you know, he’s not gonna be in this toaster forever. In a few weeks or months, you’ll be taking him home and trying to figure out what kind of father you want to be.”

“I was hoping I might have some help with that.” He leveled the hunter with a thoughtful look. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I.”

* * *

 

Stiles made it home a little after eight. He was bone tired, even though the most he had done all day was sit around at the hospital. Still, he was ready to call it a day and crash out in his bed. However, once he saw his dad kicked back on the couch, watching some old western on TV, he decided to collapse on to the sofa beside him.

“Ow.” His dad complained when Stiles’ elbow made contact with his side.

“Sorry.” He apologized sheepishly.

“You’re home, so I’ll take that to mean the baby is okay.” The older man reasoned.

“The doctors say he’ll probably make it.” It was good news that Stiles had not been expecting.

“And Wendy?”

“She was breathing the last time I saw her.” Of course, that had been the day before and a lot of things could have changed between then and now, especially when Mama Gemma got involved. “Oh, and uh, if anyone asks, Gemma was with me all day.”

“You’re playing alibi witness for Gemma now? Good Lord.” His dad huffed as his phone began to ring. “Oh hell.”

“Work?” Stiles peeked over his Dad to get a look at the caller ID. “Must be important if they’re calling you on your night off.”

“Yeah, it must be. I’m sorry, buddy, I gotta take this.” His father climbed off the couch as he swiped the ‘answer’ button on his cell. “Stilinski.”

His dad wandered into the kitchen to give himself some privacy. It was naïve of the older man to think Stiles would allow him that. He waited the allotted few minutes- okay it was more like ten seconds, before flipping off the back of the couch and then pinning his body to the dining room wall so he could listen in on the call.

“A dead body in the preserve? Do we have a more specific area so we can minimize the search grid? A couple miles past the old Hale House. All right. I got it. Grab the dogs and I’ll meet you out there.”

Stiles bolted from the dining room the moment he heard his father say his goodbyes. He leapt over the couch in a practiced move, landing perfectly on the cushions. He stretched his body out over the length of it for added effect.

“Hey buddy, I gotta go to work.” His dad stated regretfully as he came back into the living room. “I’m sorry, kiddo.”

“It’s okay.” Stiles had grown accustomed to his father’s odd hours in the years since he had been appointed sheriff.

“I’ll be home late, but that does not mean you stay up late.” His dad used his scolding tone, as if he knew Stiles would defy him. “I do not want you up until sunrise playing World of Warcraft, Nathaniel Thomas.”

“Okay. Okay. No need to first _and_ middle name me.” He held his hands up in surrender. “Kudos on getting the title of my game right.”

“Your subscription to that game has a tendency to show up on my credit card statement every couple of months.” His dad grumbled as he slipped on his jacket. “Look, you’ve had a long day, and you need to be up early for school tomorrow. I want you in bed at a decent hour.”

“I’ll go to bed after I shower.” How late it was when he got around to taking that shower had yet to be determined. “Are we having breakfast at the diner in the morning?”

“It’s the first day of school tomorrow, isn’t it? We don’t have many of those left.” Breakfast at the Main Street Diner on the first day of school had been a tradition of theirs since kindergarten. “I made that baked mac and cheese for dinner. There’s a plate for you in the microwave and more in the fridge.”

“Cool. Thanks.” His appetite must have returned at some point, because that sounded delicious. “I’ll assume you used the low fat ingredients.”

“You know what they say about people who make assumptions.” His dad quipped. “You weren’t here, I got to make it how I like it.”

“No leftovers for you.” He would eat it all to punish the older man for not following the healthy recipe.

“Whatever you say, son.” His father shook his head and picked his keys up out of the mug on the coffee table. “I have to go. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I love you.”

“Love you too, Pops. Be safe.”

“I always am.”

His dad was barely out the door when Stiles yanked his phone out of his pocket. He scrolled through his contacts until he came across the right one.

“Come on, Scotty, pick up the phone.” He groaned as he was sent to voicemail. “Dude, my dad just got a call out, someone found a body in the preserve. You and I are going to find that body. I’m on my way to your place now.”


	2. Wolf Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Gif sets: [Bobby ± Hales](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/147088747369/charming-wayward-sons-verse-bobby-singer-the), [Tiny Supernatural Crisis](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/147319212159/charming-wayward-sons-verse-a-tiny-supernatural).  
> Like the previous chapter, there is dialogue from the episodes in this and some of it has been altered.

Stiles was not ignorant to the world of the supernatural, it was hard to be when the Winchesters had such a prominent presence in his life. It wasn’t for a lack of trying on their part, though, they had tried to keep him in the dark as a child, claiming that John Winchester was a mythology professor on sabbatical, and that was why they had so many odd things in their car and why John’s journal as filled with strange drawings. The excuse had worked for a while, but Stiles caught on pretty quick.

When that new world had been opened up to him, nothing could stop him from learning everything he could about it. A lot of his information came from playing twenty-questions with John while the Winchester’s visited Charming, of course the elder Winchester only offered him so much. Anything else he learned came from the collection of books he pilfered off Dean over the years.

One of those books was a tattered copy of ‘A History of Lycanthropy,’ which was not proving as useful as he would have hoped it would be. It was an interesting read, but only gave him the bare minimum when it came to information on wolves and packs. After reading it twice, he finally tossed it aside in favor of his cellphone.

His first instinct was to call Dean and pick his brain, but he thought better of it, wanting to leave Dean in peace with Jax. He had the fleeting idea to call Sam, however he knew the younger Winchester brother was already buried neck-deep in demon deal research. He settled for scrolling through his contacts until he found the number for the Winchesters uncle, Bobby Singer.

 _“Hello?”_ The hunter’s gruff voice filtered over the line.

“Hey, it’s Stiles,” He gave his name awkwardly, just in case the older man didn’t have his number stored in his phone. “I need some help. What can you tell me about werewolves?”

 _“Don’t let one bite you.”_ Bobby deadpanned.

“You know, if I wanted lame jokes, I would have called Dean.” Honestly, Stiles needed someone to be serious about this. “Oh, and it’s a little late for the ‘bite me’ jokes, okay?”

 _“Ah hell.”_ Bobby grumbled, sounding incredibly put upon already. _“What have you gotten yourself into?”_

“My dad got a report of a dead body in the woods last night, so my friend and I went to look for it.” He would leave Scott’s name out of it for now, for his friend’s safety. “Dad caught me and I wasn’t gonna rat my buddy out, so I told him I was alone, and he took me back to my car. It left my friend out there all alone.”

_“And?”_

“He said he heard a wolf howl before he was attacked and bitten.” Stiles assumed Bobby, being the smart guy that he was, would know there hadn’t been wolves in California in over sixty years, therefore eliminating actual wolves from the suspect list. “The bite has already healed and now he’s got enhanced abilities, like hearing and speed. And lacrosse! He’s crazy good now.”

 _“Christ, kid. Why the hell would you go traipsing around the woods in the middle of the night, looking for a dead body?”_ Bobby snapped irritably. _“I expect that level of stupidity from Sam and Dean, but I thought you had more sense than that! What the hell were you thinking?”_

“How was I supposed to know there were werewolves in the preserve?” To the best of his knowledge, there had never been any supernatural activity in Beacon Hills. “This is the most boring place on earth. Why would werewolves or any other creatures set up shop here?”

 _“Beacon Hills has always been a supernatural hot spot.”_ The hunter was kind enough not to tack on the ‘you idiot,’ that was surely on the tip of his tongue. _“Hell, kid, I remember Dean mentioning the Hales looked after you from time to time when your mama was sick. They were werewolves.”_

“What? Really?” That explained a lot actually, he always thought Laura Hale had a nose like a bloodhound, given the way she would track him down when he’d run off. “Oh my god! Maybe Derek is the one who bit Sco— my friend! He did creep up on us when we went back to the preserve to find the inhaler.”

 _“Wait. Shut up.”_ Bobby ordered breathlessly. _“D-Derek Hale? He’s back in Beacon Hills? You’ve seen him?”_

“What? Yeah.” He had just said that, hadn’t he? “I saw him a few hours ago.”

 _“I’m on my way. I’ll be there tomorrow.”_ Bobby declared suddenly. _“Stay the hell out of the woods until I get there.”_

“Uh okay.” He had no immediate plans to return to the preserve.

* * *

 

If there was one thing Dean was sure of during his stays in Charming, it was that Jax would always make time for him. He couldn’t quite figure out how Jax pulled it off, but no matter how busy he was with club shit, he would always slip away for an hour or so, so they could spend time together. Dean asked him once why he would do it when he obviously had more important things to do, and Jax had told him that if he was willing to drive all the way to Charming for a visit, than the least he could do was make time for them to be together.

During his current trip, they were spending that time at St. Thomas. The previous day, they arrived after visiting hours, and had not been allowed to stay in the NICU long before the staff had ushered them out. This time around, they showed up in the middle of the afternoon, giving them plenty of time to spend with the baby.

“He’s looking good, Jax.” It probably wasn’t possible, but Dean would swear the kid looked healthier today than he did yesterday. “What’d the doctor say?”

“Dr. Namid thinks he’ll make it.” Jax grinned as he gazed into the incubator. “You were right. Yesterday, when you said he was strong, you were right.”

“I know.” The kid got that strength from Jax, whether the Son realized it or not. “So what are you gonna do, Jax?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have a son now, it’s not just you. Things in your life will change, hopefully for the better, but you have to decide what those things are.” It would be easier to decide those things now, while the baby was in the hospital, so it would all be done by the time Jax took the baby home. “Like Wendy. What are your plans for her? Is she gonna be in Abel’s life? Is she moving back in with you when she’s discharged?”

“Right now, Wendy is in sedated detox. When she’s discharged, I’m shipping her ass to rehab, again.” Jax muttered as he pulled a chair up next to the incubator. “She and I aren’t getting back together. She’s not moving back in with me. If she can stay clean, I won’t stop her from being in Abel’s life.”

“I’m pretty sure Gemma and Stiles might have something to say about that.” Dean knew the pair would not be kind to Wendy, and he’d bet one of them, probably Gemma, was behind Wendy’s recent OD.

“Which is why I’m gonna let them take the lead with Wendy. I’ll let them decide her involvement in Abel’s life. I trust them to do that.” He made it seem like his mother or brother would give him a choice in the matter. “I know they’ll do what’s best for him.”

“And the club? What are you gonna do there?” Dean would never suggest Jax leave SAMCRO, the club was a part of who Jax was, but at the very least Jax would have to make a few changes regarding his involvement in the club. “You’re a single father. Abel will need you more than anyone. Are you gonna step back from your SAMCRO duties or…”

“With everything going on, I can’t afford to step back.” ‘Everything’ being the war brewing with the Mayans. “I have been thinking a lot about moving the club in a different direction.”

“Which direction?”

“Out of guns. I want to move it into something more legitimate, so we don’t have cops and rival clubs constantly breathing down our necks.” The poorly concealed desperation on Jax’s face was a testament to the longing he felt to turn his club in the right direction. “I know it sounds like a pipe dream, and it’ll take some time, but I think I can do it.”

“You can, Jackson.” When he succeeded, he would be responsible for creating a better, safer life for Abel. “Do you know how you are gonna do it?”

“Not really. I mean, I know I’ve gotta convince the rest of the club to go along with it.” That was easier said than done. “I’ve already started trying, though. It’s kinda why I’ve got Sack digging up a dead body in the cemetery, and Chibs playing with Emily Duncan, priming her for Skeeter.”

“I’m smart enough not to ask what all that’s about.” By now, Dean knew better than to task too many questions, unless he was really concerned about it. “You’d let me know if you needed my help, right?”

“Yeah, man, you don’t have to worry. I’ve got club shit under control.” Jax assured him, and Dean almost believed it. “Stuff with the kid, though, I could use some help there.”

“Whatever you need, Jax.” Dean would do everything he could to help out. “I’m here.”

“I know you are and that is what I need.” The other man reached out to take Dean’s hand in his. “Hunting to you is like the club to me, I would never ask you to give that up.”

“What are you asking me?”

“Come home.” Jax pleaded wistfully. “We see each other every couple of weeks, sometimes not for months. It doesn’t have to be that way. You can hunt and have a home. You can have a home with me.”

“Your divorce from Wendy isn’t even finalized yet.” He didn’t think Jax as in the right frame of mind to be making commitments.

“I’m not asking you to marry me, dickhead.” Jax ducked his head and laughed mutely. “I just want to see you more. I want my son to know you.”

“I want that to, Jackson.” He wanted nothing more than to make Charming his base, to have some kind of home with Jax, but he knew he couldn’t, not when he would be dead in a year. “I can’t make you any promises, not with the life I live. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be around, but I will try to be here as often as I can, for as long as I can. That has to be enough.”

“It is enough. It’s more than enough.”

* * *

 

The road to Beacon Hills was a long one, whether you drove the speed limit or not. Bobby’s trip would be extended further, seeing as he had to drive two hours out of his way to drop the younger Winchester off in Charming. He might have considered taking Sam along for a moment, but Sam wanted to be with Dean, and Bobby was confident he could handle anything that popped up in Stiles neck of the woods.

“Beacon Hills,” Sam started cautiously. “It means something to you.”

“It does.” There was no use denying it, not when he was dropping everything and driving all night to get there.

“Before I went to Stanford, if we were in California, Dad would always stop in Beacon Hills, saying he was running an errand for you.” The younger man brought up conversationally. “He would meet with a woman named Talia.”

“Talia Hale.” Bobby flexed his fingers against the steering wheel as he decided to let Sam in on some history. “She was an alpha werewolf living in Beacon Hills with her family, her pack.”

“A werewolf?” Sam’s brows rose high on his forehead in disbelief. “My dad met with a werewolf, repeatedly, for you?”

“There are different classifications of werewolves, Sam. There are the ones like that girl Madison, who lose complete control on a full on, and can only be killed by a silver bullet. Then there are ones that live in packs, amongst the rest of us. They can shift at any time, some can shift into actual wolves. They feel the pull of the moon but they learn to control themselves.” Bobby did his best to explain the differences. “Talia and her family were the latter.”

“ _Were_?”

“You remember your daddy having a run in with a group of hunters going by the name Argent?”

“They’re the ones who nearly got Dean killed on that werewolf hunt when we were kids.” Sam replied, his residual anger over the incident leaking into his tone. “The daughter, Kate, I think her name was, tried to talk to me and Dad nearly lost it, told her to stay the hell away from me.”

“The Argents are not our kind of hunters.” Bobby did not consider them hunters at all, and neither did a vast majority of the hunting community. “They only go after werewolves. They claim to live by a code, ‘we hunt what hunts us’ or something like that, but it’s bullshit. They hunt innocent wolves, they chain ‘em up, electrocute them, torture them until they bite, and then they’ll cut ‘em in half.”

“Is that what they did to your friend Talia?”

“No. No. They went after Talia and her family during a lunar eclipse, when werewolves are powerless.” As far as timing went, the Argents had picked the most opportune moment to strike. “They surrounded the property, locked the Hales in the basement, and burned the house down around them.”

“Jesus.” Sam dropped his gaze to the dashboard. “Did anyone survive?”

“Talia’s two oldest kids, Laura and Derek. They had stayed late at school. Her brother Peter crawled out of a window, pulled Talia’s youngest, Cora, out with him.” It was a blessing that all of Talia’s children had survived. “Cora was relatively unharmed, but got separated from her family. Peter had told her to run. I found her in the woods a week later. Derek and Laura had already fled by then, believing their sister was dead. I got her to a cousin of Talia’s in South America. I lost track of her a few years ago. I don’t know where she is or if she’s still alive.”

“What about the uncle that got her out?” Sam asked. “Why didn’t you leave her with him?”

“Peter was burned severely. It’s a miracle he even made it out of the house at all.” Talia’s brother had used what was left of his waning strength to pull he and Cora out of the blaze. “He’s in a long term care facility now, practically catatonic.”

“Did you stay in touch with Talia’s other children?”

“They were already gone when I got to Beacon Hills.” They had been so frightened that the Argents would come for them that they had run before the smoke had even cleared. “I looked for them. I’ve spent years looking for them, but I’ve never been able to find them.”

“You care about them.” Sam noted sympathetically. “That whole family.”

“They were good people. They never hurt anybody.” They did not deserve what happened to them. “And Talia…she was an amazing woman.”

“She was special to you.”

“Yes, she was.”

±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±

_It was late in the afternoon when Bobby pulled his old Chevelle into the full parking lot of Beacon Hills High School. He weaved around the sea of students and parents, until he found the woman he was searching for._

_“Talia,” He greeted her with a press of his lips to her cheek._

_“Bobby,” She smiled softly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”_

_“So am I.” He didn’t have the chance to visit Beacon Hills as often as he might like. “I’m not really sure why you asked me to come to the school.”_

_“Derek has a game tonight.” She nodded to the teenager standing across the courtyard with his friends. “You never get to see him play.”_

_“Oh, that’s he and Bellamy’s thing.” Bobby didn’t want to step on Talia’s husband’s toes when it came to Derek. “But I’d love to see him play, if Bellamy doesn’t mind.”_

_“Of course he doesn’t mind, Bobby. You know he forgave you, forgave us, a long time ago.” Yeah, well, Talia’s husband was a better man than most. “He would never get between you and Derek, he cares about Derek too much for that.”_

_“I know he does.” He could see the love between them when he did find the time to stop by. “Look, Talia, you sounded worried on the phone, and it didn’t have anything to do with a basketball game.”_

_“The Argents are back in town.” It marked their second return to Beacon Hills in less than two years. “The last time they were here, Gerard blinded Deucalion and killed one of Ennis’s betas.”_

_“Have they been out in the preserve?” Two packs shared the woods, Talia’s and one led by an older alpha named Satomi, either one could be a target for the Argents. “Have they threatened you?”_

_“Gerard and Chris are always sniffing around the preserve. Victoria, Christopher’s wife, keeps making complaints at the school, claiming Cora is bullying her daughter Allison.” Talia sneered at the very accusation. “It’s Kate that I’m worried about. She’s been hanging around Derek.”_

_“What?”_

_“She got a job as a substitute teacher here,” Talia gestured to the school. “He’s been staying after hours a lot, telling me he’s studying with friends, or getting in some extra practice on the basketball court.”_

_“You think he’s lying.” He was a teenage boy, it wasn’t a shock to think he would lie to his mother._

_“Sheriff Stilinski mentioned to Bellamy that he saw Derek with an older blonde woman at the pizza parlor.” She rubbed her temples as she continued. “Stilinski was there with his son, Stiles, who’s a spark you know, he can sense evil. Stilinski said that Stiles made a comment about how the woman with Derek made his skin crawl.”_

_“Have you asked Derek about it?”_

_“He won’t talk to me. He’s been so closed off since what happened to Paige.” She twisted the wedding ring on her finger anxiously. “Maybe this is my fault. I taught him to be cautious around hunters, because not all of them are like you, but I think that lesson might have gotten lost in…”_

_“In all the time he’s spent with me.” He had tried too, to keep Derek from becoming too comfortable around hunters, going as far as to keep him hidden from them as much as he could. “I’m sorry, Talia. I can speak to him, see where his head’s at.”_

_“I would appreciate that.” She expressed her gratitude but didn’t relax. “I’m afraid that Gerard tasked Kate to get close to Derek, in an effort to get closer to us.”_

_“Don’t worry about the Argents.” He would take care of the goddamn Argents. “I will run interference there. I won’t let them hurt you. I can protect your family, Talia.”_

_“I know you can, Bobby.” She smiled gratefully as her eyes found Derek once more. “He misses you.”_

_“The feeling’s mutual.” He missed that kid more than he would ever know. “I’ll talk to him, Talia. I’ll figure out what’s going on between he and Kate. Then I will have a chat with Gerard.”_

_“Be careful, Bobby, please.” Talia urged him. “Gerard wouldn’t hesitate to kill you for being a werewolf sympathizer or for getting in his way.”_

_“I can handle Gerard.” Even if the Argent patriarch tried to have him taken out, his own hunter friends would bring the Argents down to avenge him. “You let me worry about him. You worry about your family.”_

* * *

 

Family dinners at Gemma’s house were usually a lavish affair. Gemma would prepare a big meal and invite a good number of the club to enjoy it. This time was no different, with the exception of a few missing SAMCRO members, although it was still a full table.

“This looks great, Mom.” Jax praised his mother’s cooking as he dug in.

“It looks fucking delicious.” Dean offered his two cents while he piled a good portion of food onto his plate. “Not to sound greedy or anything, but will there be pie?”

“It’s in the oven.” She waved a fork in the direction of the kitchen. “It’s apple.”

“You are a goddess.” Dean gushed, sending Gemma a wide grin as he picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes.

“Dude, you already dumped half the bowl onto your plate.” Juice latched a hand to the other side of the bowl. “Leave some for the rest of us.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, princess.” The hunter drawled sarcastically and relinquished his hold on the bowl. “Did you want some?”

“Yes.” Juice scooped some out before handing the bowl off to Bobby Elvis. “Food hog.”

“Play nice, children.” Clay instructed with a shake of his head.

“How’s your boy doing, Jackson?” Piney looked around Chibs to ask.

“Good. He’s really good.” Relief flooded him every time he got a chance to say that. “It’s gonna be a while before he’ll be able to come home, but he is gonna come home.”

“That’s great news, Jackie.” Chibs clapped him on the shoulder.

“Is there any—“ Tigs request was interrupted by the kitchen door swinging open. “Expecting anyone else, Gem?”

“There’s always a few stragglers.” Gemma murmured as the so-called straggler walked in. “Stiles? Yesterday, when I asked if you were coming to dinner, you told me you weren’t.”

“I’m not here to eat. I came to borrow John Winchester’s journal from Dean.” He waved the leather bound journal in the air.

“How did you get that?” Dean questioned, sitting ramrod straight. “That was locked in the Impala’s trunk.”

“I used my key.” Stiles left the ‘duh’ unsaid.

“Why— How do you have a key to _my_ car?” The hunter furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Why are you even asking?” Jax would have thought Dean would have known better than to ask dumb questions.

“I have keys to everyone’s cars…and motorcycles…and houses.” Stiles confessed unapologetically. “It’s all for emergencies, I swear.”

“And you are having some kind of emergency that required you to break into my car to steal my dad’s journal?” Dean clucked disapprovingly.

“ _Unlocked_ the trunk to _borrow_ the journal.” Stiles corrected, as if to prove he was not doing anything wrong. “For sanities sake, let’s not call it an emergency. Let’s call it research. I need it for research purposes.”

“What _emergency_ do you have that you need to research for?” Jax inquired worriedly, knowing that journal only held information on monsters the Winchesters had come across over the years.

“Mind your business, Jackson.” Stiles grunted as he shuffled past the table and into the living room, draping himself across the couch. “Be happy I didn’t just grab the journal and go back to Beacon Hills.”

“Stiles, put the damn book down, get a plate of food, and sit at the table.” Gemma ordered. “If you’re gonna be here, you’re gonna join us. You can look at the journal after dinner.”

“But—“

“Now, Stiles.” Jax demanded, a little harsher than was probably necessary.

“Ugh!” Stiles groaned in annoyance and tossed the journal onto the coffee table. “Fine.”

“He seems tense.” Juice observed as Stiles stalked into the kitchen.

“Doesn’t he always?” Piney grumbled, glancing over his shoulder to the kid. “Doesn’t he have school? Stiles don’t you have school tomorrow? What the hell are you doing here so late?”

“I already told you, I needed to look through John Winchester’s journal.” Stiles said as he dropped into an open chair across from Juice and began filling his empty plate. “And before you ask why, again, it is because I may or may not have a tiny supernatural crisis back home, but it’s under control.”

“What does _under control_ mean to you?” Dean asked curiously. “I’m just wondering, because your crisis scale is different than the average person’s.”

“That’s an understatement.” Jax muttered under his breath.

“It doesn’t help that his crisis scale varies depending on where he is.” Bobby Elvis acknowledged. “Here a crisis can either be Jax putting him in a headlock or Jax forgetting to check in when he’s out on a run. In Beacon Hills, a crisis always has to do with his dad getting injured at work.”

“If something was wrong with his dad, he’d be in Beacon Hills with him.” Chibs interjected. “And he’d been in the middle of a panic attack.”

“Nobody asked for comments from the peanut gallery, so shut it.” Stiles huffed. “And _under control_ means that I called a hunter friend.”

“I’m sorry, you did what?” Dean’s face contorted comically until he looked almost scandalized. “Y-You’re seeing other hunters?”

“You know better than to contact other hunters, Stiles,” Jax admonished, if only to keep Dean from throttling his little brother. “They make Dean nervous and territorial.”

“Dean, you are busy with Jax. Sam is stressing over…things. I called your uncle Bobby, he said he’d be here tomorrow.” Stiles shrugged before his eyes suddenly darted to Juice. “Are you trying to play footsie with me under the table? I don’t mind, I just hope it’s you.”

“It’s not me.” Juice dipped his head beneath the table and cringed as he sat back up. “It’s your brother.”

“Oh shit.” Jax jerked his foot back quickly. “Sorry. I was aiming for Dean.”

“You overshot that one just a bit.” Stiles scrunched up his face in disgust.

“Everyone keep their hands and feet to themselves.” Clay glowered at Jax.

“I saw Abel before I came here,” Stiles mentioned. “He seems better.”

“He is.” Jax wouldn’t ask how his brother had gotten into the NICU after visiting hours.

“How was your first day of school?” Gemma questioned as she sipped her wine.

“Oh, are you trying to do the creepy maternal thing with me?” Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It was fine. I have all AP classes and I was benched in lacrosse. You know, the usual.”

“Wow. You’re life is so exciting.” Tig cackled, earning a middle finger from the teenager. “Please tell us you at least got a date to liven things up.”

“Hey, if you wanna stick your dick in one of those snobby whores you go to school with, that’s your decision, but don’t bring ‘em around the garage or clubhouse.” Gemma warned her youngest son. “You understand?”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” Stiles mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“Why?”

“You just said the girls were snobby whores,” Dean reminded the matriarch. “Stiles doesn’t make enough money to pique their interest. Even if they didn’t know he was just a part time mechanic, one look at his crappy Jeep and they’d know he wasn’t raking in the dough.”

“Do not talk shit about Roscoe.” Stiles scowled at the hunter.

“Plus, he already admitted that Juice is who he wants to play footsie with.” Dean winked at the younger Son, whose cheeks flushed crimson. “If he’s gonna try to stick his dick anywhere—“

“No!” Jax smacked a hand over Dean’s mouth. “No. No more talking about my brother’s dick.”

“Or where he wants to put it.” Chibs chortled. “Inside Juicy boy.”

“Enough!” Clay smacked a palm down on the table.

“You know, I just came over to look at the damn journal.” Stiles pouted. “If you guys had just let me do that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“We’re not having this conversation.” Clay snapped. “Shut up and eat your fucking food.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Stiles mocked with a jaunty salute.

* * *

 

By the time lacrosse practice was finished Friday afternoon, Stiles was convinced he was right about Scott being a werewolf. Of course, getting Scott to believe him was going to be a challenge in itself.

“Remember that joke from yesterday?” Stiles asked his friend, only for the other teenager to shake his head in response. “The wolf. The bite in the woods. I started doing all this reading and I called a few contacts.”

“What contacts?” Scott inquired suspiciously.

“My brother’s boyfriend’s uncle is a mythology professor.” He fed Scotty the same lie the Winchesters had fed him for years. “Anyway, I was doing all this research. Do you even know why a wolf howls?”

“Should I?” That was a fair question, he supposed.

“It’s a signal, okay? When a wolf’s alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack.” Stiles revealed, breaking down the information he had come across in his reading. “So if you heard a wolf howling, that means others could have been nearby. Maybe even a whole pack of ‘em.”

“A whole pack of wolves?” Scott’s eyes widened in shock.

“No, werewolves.” He was unsure of how his friend would take the news, so he tried to be as delicate as he could be.

“Are seriously wasting my time with this?” Scott shot up from where he was seated on the bed. “You know I’m picking up Allison in an hour.”

“I saw you on the field today, Scott.” He had never once seen Scott play that well. “Okay, what you did wasn’t just amazing, all right? It was impossible.”

“Yeah, so I made a good shot.” Scott shrugged it off, like it was not the best thing that had happened to him since he had started high school.

“No, you made an incredible shot. I mean, the way you moved, your speed, your reflexes.” They were all skills and strengths his best friend had never before the ill-fated trip to the preserve. “People can’t suddenly do that overnight. And there’s the vision and other senses, and don’t even think I don’t notice you don’t need your inhaler anymore.”

“Okay!” Scott shouted over him to be heard. “Dude, I can’t think about this now. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? What? No.” This was not a conversation that could wait. “The full moon’s tonight. Don’t you get it?”

“What are you trying to do? I just made first line. I got a date with a girl, who I can’t believe wants to go out with me.” Scott waxed poetic about his recent accomplishments. “And everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?”

“I’m trying to help.” He insisted, hoping Scott would see that it wasn’t some joke. “You’re cursed, Scott. You know, and it’s not just that the moon will cause you to physically change. It also just so happens to be when your bloodlust will be at its peak.”

“Bloodlust?”

“Yeah, your urge to kill.” He wasn’t entirely sure why he had to make the clarification, bloodlust seemed pretty self-explanatory.

“I’m already starting to feel the urge to kill, Stiles.” Stiles remarked in what could barely pass as menacing tone for him.

“You gotta hear this.” Stiles snatched his copy of ‘A History of Lycanthropy’ off the desk and began reading a passage from it. “ _’The change can be caused be anger or anything that raises your pulse.’_ All right? I haven’t seen raise your pulse like Allison does. You gotta cancel this date. I’m gonna call her right now.”

“What are you doing?” Scott questioned dumbly as Stiles shouldered past him.

“I’m canceling the date.” He repeated as he rifled through his friends backpack, searching for his cellphone.

“No, give it to me!” Scott yanked the phone from Stiles hands and shoved him roughly against the wall.

Stiles fought not to flinch when his back made contact with his bedroom wall. He couldn’t help but scrunch up his face in preparation for a hit when Scott raised his fist. He didn’t feel as relieved as he should have when Scott smacked his hand to the desk chair instead.

“I’m sorry.” His friend apologized, taking several steps away from him to put distance between them. “I gotta go get ready for the party. I’m sorry.”

Stiles could only nod as Scott retrieved his backpack and scurried out of the room. It was only when he was alone that he relaxed, sagging against the wall and feeling safe in his space once more. It took him a moment to regain his bearings, to push off the wall and pick his chair up from the floor, setting it upright and noting the new tears in the upholstery.

“Holy crap.” He examined the torn stitching that was obviously made by something sharp.

“Stiles,” His father’s voice pulled his attention to the doorway. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Oh yeah, he was totally fine. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary going on. “Why do you ask?”

“I heard a loud bang, followed by a small crash, and then Scott was storming out of the house like his ass was on fire.” His dad leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “I used my skills of deduction to determine that something was going on.”

“Right, well, Scott and I were talking about lacrosse and he remembered he had a party to get to.” Stiles peppered his lie with a little bit of truth to make it more believable. “He tripped over my chair and fell in his rush to get out of here so he could get ready.”

“Uh huh.” Yeah, his pops didn’t buy his story for a second. “You didn’t tell me you were going to a party.”

“I’m not.” He wasn’t invited, though if he got bored he might crash it later. “I don’t want to be a third wheel. Scott’s taking a girl with him.”

“Scott _McCall_?”

“Uh huh.” He could barely believe it himself.

“Good for him.” His dad schooled his features, trying to mask his surprise. “And what are you doing tonight?”

“Not much.” Nothing that he would admit to anyway. “I’ll probably play some video games and watch TV. I don’t know.”

“I have the night shift.” It wasn’t odd, his dad had the night shift every Friday. “So you will call me if you plan to leave the house, so I’m not surprised if I come home to find you gone.”

“I will.” He promised to prevent his father from worrying. “Be safe tonight.”

“I’m always as safe as I can be at work, Stiles.” That might have been comforting if Stiles didn’t know his father’s current case quite possibly revolved around werewolves. “And son?”

“Yeah?”

“Just because Scott is your friend and some things are apparently changing in his life,” As far as his father knew, those things were simply Scott’s relationship status, not his entire species as Stiles knew it. “That does not give him the right to treat you like crap. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Pop, I understand.” He was willing to give his friend some leeway just this once.

“If you need to talk…”

“I know, Dad. Thanks.”

* * *

 

Dean was happy to let Jax deal with club business, he never complained about it. Time away from Jax in Charming meant time to pull his baby into the Teller-Morrow garage to show her some love.

“All right, sweetheart. I’m gonna fix you up a bit— not that you’re broken. I’m just gonna make sure your engine is revving nice and pretty.” He smoothed a hand over her hood. “Then I’m gonna wash you down and wax you up.”

“Do you talk to Jax like that?” Lowell inclined his head in question then thought better of it. “Nevermind, don’t answer that.”

“I wasn’t going to.” How he talked to Jax was his business.

“Well, if you’re done whispering sweet nothings to your car,” Gemma stepped into the garage. “Maybe you’re ready to answer a few questions.”

“He wasn’t whispering.” Lowell commented.

“What questions?” Dean chose to ignore the mechanic in favor of focusing on Gemma. “What did I do? Or what do you think I did?”

“Calm down. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She strode over to the Impala, acting as if she were admiring the paint job. “I just want to know how long you’re going to be in town.”

“I’m taking off in the morning.” It was about time for him to get back on the road and back to work. “I told Jax I would be coming around more often, so we can see each other, and I can check in on the kid.”

“Good.” Gemma nodded approvingly. “Jax is gonna need you, so is that baby.”

“I’ll be here as much as I can.” He intended to spend any available time he had in Charming with Jax and the kid.

“Good.” The matriarch said again. “Now why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something is going on with you. I don’t know if it’s got anything to do with your brother going missing last week,” She spoke gently, not oblivious to the fact that it was a sore subject for him. “Or if it’s something else entirely. If it is something that is going to affect my son, I need to know about it.”

“Gemma, I can’t…” He couldn’t tell her, he already told Stiles, and the more people who knew, the more chance there was that Jax would find out. “It’s just work.”

“Yes, well, your work and personal lives tend to overlap.” She wasn’t wrong, they intersected more often than not. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but you have to tell me something.”

“I have a job to do, Gem. That job is just about done.” It was the same job he had long before he was a hunter, the one he was given the day Sam was born and he was given the responsibility of being a big brother. “And when it is…so am I.”

It was his greatest fear, to be honest, one that had him waking up in a cold sweat every night since he made the deal. He would be leaving his little brother alone, with no one to care for him in a year’s time. Knowing that he would not be there to protect Sammy sent spikes of terror straight up his spine.

“I can’t change what I did and I wouldn’t if I could.” Hell or not, making the deal to save Sam’s life was not something he could regret. “I made the decision that was best for my family, you of all people should understand that.”

“But you’re not going to tell me what that decision is?”

“I can’t.” The people who needed to know knew. He wouldn’t put the weight of his decision on anyone else’s shoulders. “Someone will, eventually, but it won’t be me.”

“Who—“ Gemma’s inquiry was drowned out by the squeal of tires on asphalt. “What the hell?”

“What are they doing here?” Dean was more than surprised to see Bobby’s Chevelle come to a hard stop in the TM parking lot.

“I guess you weren’t expecting them.” Gemma noted as Sam climbed out of the car.

“Sammy,” Dean greeted his brother as Bobby peeled out of the lot as quickly as he’d come. “What’s going on? Where is he going?”

“Beacon Hills to help Stiles.”

“Help with what?”

“Werewolves.”

“Oh, terrific.”

* * *

 

Stiles was probably glutton for punishment when he had answered Scotts call late in the evening. His friend had sounded so panicked that Stiles headed right over to his house, only to be sent away, tasked with checking on Allison. He barely made it back to his Jeep in the McCall driveway when a screech of tires breaking suddenly spooked him.

“Whoa.” He brought a hand to his chest as he heard a car door slam shut. A part of him expected he werewolf who had been howling for Scott would appear out of thin air and take a bite out of him next. “Oh, this could be bad, very, very bad.”

“Stiles?”

“Or it could be Bobby.” The Winchester’s uncle was a much safer option than a werewolf. “Right? That is you, Bobby, right?”

“Yeah, it’s me, you idjit.” The older man grumbled as he came into view.

“How did you know I was here?” He hadn’t even told his father where he was going.

“You weren’t at your house. Where the hell else would you be?” Bobby made it seem like he was either predictable or boring. “Where’s Derek Hale?”

“How should I know?” He wasn’t the guy’s keeper. “I didn’t even know he was back in town until yesterday when I saw him in the woods.”

“You don’t know where he’s staying?”

“No.”

“Then you are gonna take me to where you saw him yesterday.” Bobby pulled the passenger door to the Jeep open. “This will do a lot better on the preserve roads than my car.”

“Wait. No.” Stiles hopped into the driver seat as Bobby did the same on the passenger side. “I can’t take you out there. I mean, I can, but I have to stop by this girl Allison’s house first. She and Scott had a date tonight, but he had to leave early for…reasons. He needs me to check on her, make sure she’s okay.”

“Why? Did he attack her?”

“What? No. W-Why would you think he attacked her or anyone?” Stiles had no idea where Bobby would get the idea that Scott would hurt anyone, let alone the girl he liked.

“He’s a new werewolf and it’s a full moon.” The hunter pointed out the window to the moon shining brightly.

“I never told you Scott was—“

“On the phone you said your friend was bitten. Outside of Charming, how many friends do you actually have?”

“That’s rude.” He didn’t have a lot of friends by choice, not because he couldn’t make any. “Look, Scott is worried about Allison because Derek Hale drove her home tonight. I have to check on her.”

“No, you don’t. What you need to do is start the car.” Bobby leaned over to turn the key in the ignition himself. “Scott’s girlfriend is safe, Derek wouldn’t hurt her. And he didn’t bite your friend either.”

“How do you know that?” Stiles asked as he pulled the Jeep out of the driveway and onto the road. “You said he was a werewolf. You implied all the Hales were werewolves.”

“You have to be an alpha to turn someone into a werewolf.” Bobby informed him. “After Talia died, after the fire, Laura became the alpha of the pack, or what was left of it.”

“Why?” Stiles was always interested in the reasoning behind things he didn’t understand. “Was it because she was Talia’s oldest child? Would it have defaulted to Peter if he hadn’t been hurt?”

“I’m not sure of the logistics of it.” Bobby admitted. “I think part of it was Peter being injured, yeah, and the other part of it was because it was a position Laura had been groomed for since birth.”

“What position were Derek and Cora groomed for?” He wondered if every member of the pack held a specific job.

“One of them would have been Laura’s second, her counsel. The other would have been a pack liaison, who would meet with other packs and form alliances.” Bobby explained two other roles within the pack ranks. “Laura would have decided who was suited for which position.”

“I guess things would be a little different with just two members in a pack.” That was assuming that Laura hadn’t allowed other wolves into her pack. “If Derek is back, Laura must be to. Could she have bitten Scott? Maybe she wants to rebuild the pack.”

“No. Laura would not put Derek at risk by biting a stranger.” Bobby declared firmly as they took the turn off to the preserve.

“You knew the Hales pretty well, huh?”

“Talia and I were friends.” It was interesting, the way Bobby said _friend_ in the same fond and adoring tone that others would reserve for a lover. “We had a treaty. I told her I would protect her family from other hunters.”

“Other hunters…” He made it sound like there were other hunters after the Hales. “Wait. The fire. It wasn’t caused by faulty wiring, was it?”

“It was a family who call themselves hunters. In reality, their only goal in life is to wipe out as many werewolves as possible, even the ones who never hurt anybody, that lived normal lives, like the Hales.” Bobby sighed and ran a tired hand down his face. “I promised Talia, I promised _Derek_ , that I would protect them from that.”

“It’s not your fault, Bobby.” Stiles didn’t know much about the fire, he’d been young when it happened, and he knew less about Bobby’s involvement with the Hales, but he knew Bobby couldn’t be held accountable for the crimes committed by another. “The fire, it wasn’t your fault. Derek and Laura just having each other, that’s not your fault either.”

“They don’t just have each other.” Bobby murmured to himself more than anything. “Stop the car. We’re here.”

“Yep.” Stiles put the car in park next to the ruins of the old Hale house, where a handful of other cars seemed to surround Derek’s Camaro. “Maybe he has company.”

“Those belong to hunters.” Bobby growled and removed his pistol from its holster. “Are you armed?”

“Not while I’m in Beacon Hills.” Stiles only carried a gun in Charming.

“Then you stay behind me.” The older man instructed.

“Yeah. Okay.” If they were anywhere else, Stiles might argue, but he was out of his element when it came to werewolves and werewolf hunters.

It was probably pointless to lock up the Jeep, but he did so anyway before he and Bobby set off on foot into the woods. Stiles wasn’t a tracker, he had no idea where they were going, but it was clear Bobby did. He was calculated in the way he moved through the forest with the utmost precision, like he knew the exact route that had to take to get where they were going.

“Are we looking for Derek or the hunters?” Stiles asked in a hushed whisper.

“Whoever we find first.” Bobby huffed as they continued their trek.

“Well, um,” Stiles eyes caught on movement between the trees that was followed by a bright flare flying through the air. “Found ‘em.”

“Damn it!”

Bobby took off like a shot, with more speed than he would have expected from someone his age. Stiles was hot on his tail, not letting him get too far in front of him. He might have been following a little too closely, because he nearly barreled into the older man when he suddenly came to a dead stop.

“Argent!” Bobby snarled, raising his gun to the three men standing in front of them.

“Bobby Singer,” The man holding a crossbow seemed more amused than threatened by having a gun thrust in his face.

“Argent?” Stiles exclaimed, giving the man with a bow a once-over. “You’re Allison’s dad.”

“Hunting with teenagers, Singer?” Argent swung his crossbow in Stiles direction at the mention of his daughter’s name. “Or is he a werewolf that you’re protecting?”

“So not a werewolf.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m just plain old human. And I’m the sheriff’s son, and I don’t think my dad would appreciate you pointing a deadly weapon at me.”

“You snuck up on us while we were hunting deer.” Argent offered him an arrogant grin. “Whatever happened after that was a terrible accident, the fault lying with the idiot teenager playing in the woods in the middle of the night.”

“One, the preserve is closed to the public after dark, so you are trespassing. Two, you are currently on private property, owned by the remaining Hales, so you’re actually trespassing twice.” Stiles ticked the offenses off on his fingers. “Three, you are ‘hunting’ in a wildlife preserve, which might be legal in some part of the United States, but is actually a felony here in Beacon Hills. You could claim you didn’t know the local laws, because you’re new in town, but we all know that’s bullshit. You’ve been to Beacon Hills before, and something tells me my dad would remember someone like you.”

Stiles always took a special kind of pleasure in stunning someone into silence, and this time was no different. Argent’s finger twitched on the trigger of his crossbow, like he would send a bolt through Stiles just to shut him up. Bobby must have sense the potential threat if the way he took a protective stance in front of him meant anything.

“Kid’s got you by the balls, Chris.” Bobby chuckled darkly. “It’d be in your best interest to leave.”

“Or what? Hmm?” Argent took a step toward Bobby. “Is your little prodigy gonna call his father and have us arrested?”

“No. I’m gonna do exactly what I promised Gerard I would if one of you half-wits touched Talia or her family.” Bobby pulled the hammer back on his gun and leveled it with Chris Argent’s head. “And eradicate your poisonous bloodline, spare the world some evil.”

“Do not threaten my family.” Chris warned, a deadly lit to his tone.

“Your _family_ should have listened to me before they started lighting fires.” The elder hunter’s hand shook with the effort it took to keep from pulling the trigger. “I told your daddy what would happen if any of you hurt the Hales.”

“My family had nothing to do with that fire.” Chris enunciated each world carefully, so he would not be misunderstood.

“If that were true, you and your boys,” Bobby motioned to the two other men, who had remained silent as they stood behind Chris. “Would not be out here trying to tie up loose ends, trying to capture and kill Laura and Derek.”

“A girl was killed in these woods, we are just trying to find what did it, so we can make the world a safer place.” Chris was obviously drinking the crazy Kool-Aid if he thought they would believe that.

“No one had been _murdered_ in these woods since the Hale fire, until your family moved back to town.” Stiles pointed out, earning a sharp glare from Argent and his lackeys. “Smart money says you killed the girl to justify killing the werewolves that call this preserve home. I’m guessing the rest of the hunting community doesn’t take kindly to the way your family kills without provocation.”

“Kid’s not wrong.” The corners of Bobby’s lips quirked up in a smile. “The way you do things puts us all at risk. I know a few hunters who would justify putting you down to protect the community.”

“Watch yourself, Singer.”

“I think it’s time you and your friends left, Christopher.” Bobby jerked his gun toward the vehicles back by the house. “Kiss your wife. Make sure your daughter is tucked into bed. I’ll look into the body found out here.”

“I’m sure you will.” Argent muttered as he lowered his bow. “If someone else dies out here in an apparent animal attack, I’ll be back.”

“So will I.”

The hunters retreated as ordered, albeit grudgingly. Bobby didn’t move, didn’t even take a breath until the tail lights were out of sight and the rumble of engines faded in the distance. He was so still that Stiles startled when he whipped his head to where the flare had previously gone off.

“Derek?” Bobby called out to the forest. “You out there, son?”

A rustling of leaves and crunch of tree branches snapping signaled an answer to Bobby’s call. There was a tense thrum of energy pulsing in the air as the sound of footsteps drew near. The charge of the atmosphere changed completely the moment Derek stepped out of the shadows.

“Derek,” A relieved smile broke out on Bobby’s face as he holstered his gun.

The younger Hale said nothing at first, only stared at Bobby like he was seeing a ghost. He seemed content to ignore Stiles as he made his way to the hunter. It was only when came closer, that Stiles noticed the tears welling in his eyes.

“Dad…” Derek sobbed and slumped against the older man.

“I’ve missed you so much, son.” Bobby wrapped the wolf in a tight embrace. “I’ve been looking for you, boy, you and your sister.”

“She’s dead.” Derek whimpered into Bobby’s shoulder. “L-Laura’s dead. They cut her in half.”

“Oh hell.” Bobby gripped Derek tighter. “I’m so sorry, son.”

The apparent reunion between father and son was beautiful to witness, yet Stiles knew he was intruding on a very private moment. Not wanting to interrupt anymore than he had to, he tapped a finger to Bobby’s shoulder and gestured to the Hale House, a silent indicator of where he would be. He waited patiently for a hint of recognition and then proceeded to hike back to his Jeep.

Stiles had no intention of leaving Derek or Bobby out in the woods by themselves, so he resigned himself to waiting them out. He spent a few minutes kicking the dirt around the tires, just to have something to do, but quickly grew bored and settled for sitting in the driver seat. He drummed his fingers to the steering wheel, timing them with whatever beat happened to pop into his head.

It was ten minutes before Bobby and Derek appeared out of the darkness. They bypassed Derek’s Camaro, choosing the Jeep as their mode of transportation instead. Derek ceded the passenger seat over to Bobby and took the backseat for himself.

“You mind driving us back to my car?” Bobby asked as he buckled his seatbelt.

“You don’t want to take the Camaro?” Stiles nodded toward the car parked a few feet away, then remembered how the hunters had boxed it in with their own a little while ago. “You’re afraid Argent and his boys messed with it. You want to wait till daylight to check it out.”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah. I’ll take you back to the Chevelle.” He agreed, starting up the Jeep and beginning the drive back to Scott’s place, where they had left Bobby’s car. “Um, Derek, I’m pretty sure Scott was headed out here to talk—“

“He’s fine.” Derek assured him in the same gruff tone Bobby had mastered. “I sent him home. And I told him to stay away from Allison.”

“I doubt that happens.” Despite who her father was, Allison was the first girl to look at Scott twice, there was no way he would let her go.

“If you want him to live, you’ll make sure it happens.” Derek snarled.

“I’ll do my best. Chill out, wolf-boy.” Stiles would do what he could to keep Scott alive. He wouldn’t let some chick be his best friends downfall. “So, uh, this probably isn’t the right time, and I know it’s none of my business—“

“That has never stopped you from asking anything before.” Bobby acknowledged. “Ask what you want to ask, kid.”

“Okay. Why did Derek call you dad?” Stiles posed the question to Bobby but met Derek’s eye in the rearview mirror. “I remember your dad, Derek. He was a doctor, a pediatrician. He was friends with my dad. His name was Bellamy not Bobby.”

“Bellamy was Cora and Laura’s dad. He was my stepdad. He was still my dad, but…” Derek trailed off as his gaze found the hunter in the seat in front of him. “Bobby is my dad too.”

“I’m his biological father.” Bobby clarified. “You’re a smart kid, I’m sure you can figure the rest out for yourself.”

“Yeah. I get it. I’m a one night stand baby too.” Although, had he been raised by Gemma, he doubted Clay would have treated him the way he recalled Bellamy treating Derek. “From the looks of that hug, I’ll assume that you guys were close and that it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other.”

“Since the fire.” Derek confessed sullenly.

“Well, it’s, um, it’s good you guys found each other, especially under the circumstances.” Stiles commented sadly. “I’m sorry about Laura. You know, I have an older brother and I couldn’t imagine losing him, and I’m just…I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Thanks.”

“Speaking of your brother,” Bobby cleared his throat pointedly. “Do me a favor and keep—“

“Keep all the werewolf stuff to myself. Yeah, I already planned on doing that.” His brother had enough to deal with without Stiles adding more. “But I may have said something at dinner last night, so you’ll have to—“

“I don’t care if he knows about werewolves. I’ll tell him I’ve got it under control, that you’re safe.” Bobby brushed off any concern about that. “I want you to keep your mouth shut about Derek being my son. If you tell Jax, he’ll tell Dean—“

“Dean doesn’t know?” The Winchesters were like family to Bobby. Why the hell wouldn’t he tell them he had a son of his own? “How does he not know?”

“A hunter having a werewolf son. Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be?” Bobby barked curtly. “The less people who knew Derek was my boy the better. Sam and Dean were just kids when he was born and kids have loose lips. I thought it was better to keep it from them.”

“Okay.” Stiles could see the logic in that. “Who did know? I mean, outside the Hales.”

“Rufus Turner and John Winchester. That was it.” Bobby had only trusted two people with his child’s life. “I’m gonna tell Sam and Dean, they’re old enough to understand now, but you gotta let me be the one to do it.”

“Yeah. Okay.” It wasn’t his place to say anything anyway. “So, um, back to Scott for minute. Derek, if Laura was the body in the woods, that means she couldn’t have been the one to bite Scott.”

“She never would have bitten Scott anyway.” Derek reiterated the same thing Bobby had told him earlier. “You she would have bitten, had she been given the chance.”

“Me?” Stiles would make the world’s worst werewolf. “Why me?”

“You were a royal pain the ass when she would babysit you. It was like you enjoyed ditching her.” Derek rolled his eyes and shook his head. “She’d have bitten you just so she could call you to heel.”

“Oh, haha, the werewolf’s got jokes.” At least he hoped Derek was joking. “Seriously, though, if Laura didn’t bite Scott, who did?”

“I don’t know.”


	3. Bad Day at Fun Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Mentions of Rape/Non-con  
> Gif sets: [Our Boy](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/148292735559/charming-wayward-sons-verse-youre-not-immune), [Eight O'Clock Feeding](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/143704800189/charming-wayward-sons-verse-i-really-wanna), [Spaz Out](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/148564230524/charming-wayward-sons-verse-spaz-out-stiles).  
> Episodes: [SPN]Bad Day at Black Rock, [SOA]Fun Town, [TW]Second Chance at First Line.  
> Again, there is dialogue from the actual episodes present and slightly altered.
> 
> Apologies for the wait on this chapter, I've had some computer issues that took priority and I had to wait for some parts to come in so I could get it in working condition again.
> 
> *There are gonna be time-lapses between chapters to account for their only be 13 episodes of Sons of Anarchy S1 and 12 of Teen Wolf, while they are 16 in S3 of Supernatural. So in chapter 1 the school year has just started for Stiles, but in another two chapters or so it'll be A Very Supernatural Christmas. The episodes will all still have happened, they're just stretched out over a longer period of time.

As much as Dean enjoyed his time in Charming, his time with Jax, he was happy to be back on the road. He could relax when it was just he and his brother on the open highway. He knew part of that was because he didn’t have to lie to Sam or give him vague responses in regards to the future.

“You pissed off?” Sam questioned suddenly, his voice booming through the otherwise silent car.

“What?” His eyes flickered briefly from the road to his brother. “No. Why?”

“You’re quiet.” Sam observed. “I thought maybe you were mad about leaving Charming and missing your carnival date with Jax.”

“Carnival date? You mean that Fun Town thing?” Dean snorted derisively. “Jax and I were never going to that. I mean, I’m sure he went with the club, but he and I were never going together.”

“And Charming?”

“It was time to go.” He would have loved to stay with Jax, but he just couldn’t. “I hate lying to him and giving him half-truths. It’s easier to just go.”

“I guess that means you didn’t tell him about your deal.” There was only a hint of disapproval in Sam’s voice, Dean was gonna count that as a win. “Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

“I think he’s got a sick baby who needs to be his priority.” If Dean told Jax about the deal, it would distract him from what was really important. “And if we can find some kind of miracle solution to get me out of the deal, then he will never have to know.”

“So now you believe we’ll find something?” Sam asked hopefully. “You’re done trying to stop me? You’re gonna help me find a way to save you?”

“I don’t want to die, Sammy. I don’t want to go to Hell.” He was willing to go, was prepared to, but he didn’t want to. “If there is a way to save me, then we’ll find it. And if we don’t, maybe Bobby’s long lost son can be your new hunting partner.”

“That’s not funny.” Sam remarked sourly. “Speaking of Bobby’s kid.... What the hell, man?”

“I don’t know. I guess everyone has their secrets.” Dean hadn’t been expecting a secret of that magnitude from Bobby of all people. “I can understand why he kept a _werewolf_ son a secret from his hunter friends, not all of them are as open-minded as him.”

“Still, it’s weird that he would keep it from us.” Sam said irritably. “Do you think he’ll introduce us to his son?”

“When he’s ready.” They had to let Bobby move at his own pace. “He and the kid- _Derek_ have a lot of catching up to do.”

 “That’s true.” His younger brother nodded in agreement. “I can’t imagine how he must have felt all these years, not knowing where his son was or if he was even still alive.”

“They have each other again, that’s all that matters.” Dean doubted Bobby would be leaving Derek’s side any time soon. “We gotta respect that, you know, give them space to reestablish their bond or whatever.”

“We will. I know this is one of those things Bobby has to do on his own.” They would try to help, but ultimately Bobby would handle it himself. “What about the Argents? Bobby said they set fire to the Hale house, and when I talked to Stiles this morning he told me Argent was tracking Derek and Scott in the woods. We’re not gonna let Bobby handle them on his own, are we?”

“Bobby said it was under control.” Dean was willing to take his word for it, Bobby had been in the business a hell of a lot longer than they had. “Stiles promised to keep me in the loop. If he thinks Bobby needs help he’ll let us know.”

“The Argents have been hunting for generations,” Sam mentioned conversationally. “They had to have come across a lot of different things. They would have information on demon deals.”

“Those people killed an entire family of people Bobby cared about, and you want to trade secrets with ‘em?” Dean almost wouldn’t be able to believe he was hearing something like that coming out of his brother’s mouth had they not recently had a conversation about working with the enemy. “Oh, you mean you want to work with them like you want to work with that Ruby bitch that you should have exorcised the moment you knew she was a demon? Is that what we’re talking about here?”

“I’m not saying we trust them. I’m saying they can be a valuable resource.” It was pretty much the same argument Sam gave when they talked about why he didn’t kill Ruby on the spot. “When your life is on the line, Dean, we need to use every available resource.”

“No, we don’t.” They had to draw a line somewhere.

“Dean—“ Sam’s complaint was interrupted by the shrilling ring of a phone. “It’s not mine. Yours?”

“Nope. Check the compartment.” Dean waved a hand toward the glove box. “It’s Dad’s.”

“Dad’s?” The younger man rooted around the compartment until he found the device.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t as strange as it sounded. “I keep it charged in case any of his old contacts call.”

“Hello? Yes, this is Edgar Cayce.” Sam answered the call awkwardly. “No, no, no. Don’t call the police. I’ll handle this myself. Thanks. You know, can you just lock it back up for me? Great. Uh, I don’t have my book in front of me. Do you have the address?”

Dean scavenged through his pockets until he found pen and handed it over to his brother. Sam jotted down the information in their father’s journal before ending the call.

“Did you know Dad kept a container at a storage place outside Buffalo?” Sam tilted his head inquisitively.

“What? No way.”

“Yeah, and someone just broke into it.”

* * *

 

Contrary to popular belief, Stiles actually had life that went beyond school and Scott. That didn’t explain why he had given up a fun night at the carnival to dig up a dead body on the Hale property with Scott.

“What if he comes back?” Scott halted his digging to dart his eyes suspiciously toward the forest.

“Then we get the hell out of here.” Stiles grumbled as he dug his shovel into the dirt. “For the record, I’m still not okay with this, going behind Derek and Bobby’s back. Bobby’s a friend, you know.”

“What if Derek catches us?” Scott ignored his question in favor of posing his own.

“I have a plan for that.” He had plan for everything, his friend should’ve known that by now.

“Which is?”

“You run one way, I run the other. Whoever he catches first, too bad.” Stiles was banking on Derek finding Scott to be the more desirable target.

“I hate that plan.” Scott groused as his shovel struck something beneath the dirt.

“All right. Stop, stop, stop!” Stiles tossed his tool away when they seemed to find what they were searching for.

“Hurry.” Scott urged as they crouched over the bundle they had unearthed from the ground.

“I’m trying.” Stiles grunted in frustration as he tried to work the rope tied around it. “Did he have to tie the thing in like 900 knots?’

“I’ll do it.” Scott batted his hands away and used his newly acquired claws to cut through the rope. The blanket the rope had held together slid away and revealed the wolf carcass beneath it.

“Whoa!” Stiles shrieked as he and Scott scrambled out of the hole. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a wolf.”

“Yeah. I can see that.” His question had been rhetorical, thank you very much. “I thought you said you smelled blood? As in _human_ blood?”

“I told you there was something different.” Scott murmured with a shrug.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Stiles huffed before he and Scott both startled at the cellphone blaring loudly from his pocket. “H-Holy shit.”

“Who is calling you now?” Scott glared at the phone as if it were personally betraying them. “It’s your dad, isn’t it? He knows we’re out here and –“

“Calm down. It’s Jax.” Stiles sighed as he swiped his thumb across the phone screen to answer the call. “You scared the living hell out of me, Jackson.”

 _“Either I woke you up or you are doing something you shouldn’t be.”_ His big brother theorized. _“Should I ask?”_

“Do I ask about your business?” Stiles chose to ignore the cackle he received in response when a plant coming out of the ground caught his eye. “Hold on, Jax. Scott, what is that?”

“What?” Scott followed his line of sight. “The flower thing?”

“I think it’s wolfsbane.” Stiles stood and made his way around the hole until he could kneel down beside the plant. “You know werewolf lore says-“

 _“Bobby told Dean he had this werewolf crap handled, Stiles.”_ Jax snapped over the line. _“You are supposed to stay out of it.”_

“I never agreed to that.” They could not expect him to sit on his hands after his best friend had been bitten, and werewolves and hunters were converging in his backyard. “Why are you calling me so late anyway? Are you lonely now that Dean’s back on the road? Did you need someone to talk to so you can feel better? All right. I’m here. Tell little brother your sorrows.”

 _“Oh shut up.”_ Jax barked weakly. _“I’m not lonely. I called because I’m wondering where the hell you were today.”_

“School.” Where else would he have been in the middle of the week? “You do remember that I’m in high school, correct?”

 _“I meant this afternoon, dumbass.”_ Jax clarified impatiently. _“You were supposed to help Donna keep an eye on Kenny and Ellie at the carnival. You never showed.”_

“I was busy.” School and the supernatural had taken priority. “I called Donna and told her I couldn’t make it. She said her mom would go with her. Why are you bitching at me about it?”

 _“I just…I thought I was gonna see you is all.”_ Jax mumbled sullenly.

“I’m sorry.” He should have known his big brother would need some comfort now that Dean was gone. “I have a game tomorrow, but I can try to come over for a few hours the next day. I can show up early and we can have breakfast.”

 _“No, you have school that day too.”_ Jax acknowledged, sounding incredibly disappointed. _“I can come to you. I can take you to breakfast before you go to school.”_

“Okay. That sounds good.” His brother used to do that all the time when he was little. He would show up bright and early so they could spend time together. “You know, you can come to my game tomorrow if you want. I won’t be playing, but we can hang out while I’m benched.”

 _“We’ll see, buddy. All right? I’ll have to see what bullshit I’ve got to deal with tomorrow.”_ The ‘bullshit’ tended to take precedence over whatever else Jax had planned. _“You gonna tell me what you and Scott are up to?”_

“Uh…” Stiles thought about it for moment as he yanked the wolfsbane plant, along with a rope-like root, out of the ground. “If I had a good answer, I’d tell you.”

 _“I’m your brother, not your father.”_ Jax reminded him. _“It’s not like I can ground you. And I won’t judge you for whatever weird shit you’ve gotten yourself into. I’ll mock and ridicule you, but I won’t judge.”_

“I appreciate that, but, um….” Stiles trailed off as he continued to pull the root from the ground, walking in circles around the hole until he reached the end of it.

“Oh my god!” Scott shouted in horror as the wolf carcass transformed into a human girl, or half of one anyway.

“That…that’s….” If Stiles were to wager a guess, he would say that was Laura Hale.

 _“Stiles, what the hell is going on?”_ Jax yelled into his ear.

“We just found a dead body.” He answered without thinking.

 _“I’m calling your dad.”_ Jax declared. _“I’ll call you back when I get off the phone with him.”_

“Wait! No!” Stiles did not need to be on the receiving end of his father’s _disappointed dad_ look tonight.

 _“Did you put the dead body there?”_ Jax questioned as if that was even a realistic option.

“What? No. We found it.” Dug up, found, it was all semantics really.

 _“Then I am calling your dad.”_ Jax decided and promptly ended the call.

“Ah crap.”

* * *

 

His dad’s secret storage unit was impressive, to say the least. There was an assortment of weapons that his father never would have let Sam or Dean anywhere near. Dean was fairly certain he did not want to know where or how his father had acquired such items.

“Hey Sammy, you think Dad knocked off a military base to get some of this stuff?” Dean shined his flashlight over a wall stalked with high-end weaponry.

“It wouldn’t have been a Marine base.” Sam wasn’t wrong, their dad wouldn’t steal from the military branch he had been a part of. “It’s might be better if we don’t know where he got all this.”

“Yeah, probably.” Stolen or not, Dean planned to squirrel some select weapons away in the Impala’s trunk before they left. “You find anything besides weapons and dust?”

“My old soccer trophy, your first sawed off, and,” Sam grinned as he held up an aged Polaroid. “A picture of you and Jax working on the Impala outside TM.”

“Whoa. Flashback.” Dean took the photograph from his brother. “I wonder why Dad had this.”

“You look happy in it.” Sam noted thoughtfully. “Maybe he wanted a reminder of that.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean slipped the picture into his jacket for safekeeping. “Whoever broke into this place wasn’t look for keepsakes and it doesn’t look like there is a gun or landmine out of place.”

“Look at these,” Sam waved his flashlight toward a shelf that held a number of chests with intricate sigils painted on them. “Curse boxes, right?”

“I think so.” He had seen quite a few of them at Bobby’s house over the years, the older hunter built them himself. “That is a lot of cursed items to collect and hold onto all these years.”

“One’s missing. See this void here,” Sam ran a finger through an outline of dust. “The thieves knew what they were looking for.”

“Now we need to figure out exactly what was in that box.“ He doubted there was a master list tacked to a wall that would tell them what was hidden in each individual box. “We’ll only know that when we find who took it.”

“With any luck this place has security cameras we can look at.”

“Let’s go find out.” If the cameras caught a glimpse of the perpetrators, they would at least have a lead to follow.

“Should we call Bobby first?” Sam asked as they started for the door. “If anyone would know what Dad kept in those boxes, it would be him.”

“If the security footage turns up nothing, we’ll call him.” Dean did not want to call in the cavalry unless absolutely necessary. “He just reunited with his kid. I don’t want to bother him unless we have to. We’ll find out what we can about what was in this box and we’ll call him if we get stuck.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

* * *

 

Stiles was willing to admit that on the dumbass scale, digging up a dead body at the Hale house ranked right up there with traipsing around the woods looking for a dead body. Of course, he didn’t realize how badly he had fucked up until Derek was being led away in handcuffs, and his phone was beeping with a text message from Bobby Singer telling him to follow Derek to the station. At that point, he wasn’t entirely sure who he should be more frightened of, the werewolf or the hunter.

Nevertheless, Stiles did as he was told. He chose to wait in his dad’s office rather than standing in the parking lot until Bobby ran him down with his car for unintentionally getting Derek arrested. His dad didn’t seem to mind, only flashing him concerned glances every so often.

“Are you waiting for me to ground you?” The older man asked as he scrawled information down in his file. “I’m still thinking of an appropriate punishment for your recent activities. I’ll decide how long you’re grounded for by the time you get home from school this afternoon.”

“I’m not waiting to be grounded.” Grounded at the Stilinski house usually meant Stiles would be spending the hours he wasn’t in school at the station with his dad. “But since you brought it up, Jax might be coming to take me to breakfast tomorrow. Can I still go?”

“I’ve never kept you from your brother, grounded or not.” Hs dad closed the file he had been working on. “Are you gonna tell me how you and Scott just happened to know that Derek Hale buried a body in his yard?”

“A hunch? Dumb luck?” He shrugged, not really able to think of a good answer to give his father. “I don’t think Derek killed that girl. I think he buried her out of respect, but he didn’t kill her.”

“I appreciate the insight. Do you have any evidence to back it up?” His dad inquired curiously. “Evidence beats gut instinct in the court of law.”

“Give me some time and I’m sure I can find something.”

“How about you focus on school and leave the crime solving to me.” The older man suggested, smiling softly. “You will have a badge of your own soon enough, once you finish high school and college.”

“You didn’t go to college right after high school.” Stiles pointed out, however he knew that fact would not help his argument.

“I joined the military instead.” His dad’s eyes found the American flag displayed in a case beside his desk. “Are you planning to enlist after graduation?”

“No.” He had a bit of an authority problem that would not bode well for him in a military setting. “I’ll follow your and Grandpa’s footsteps as far as the police academy. I’ll respectfully skip over the ten years in the Marine corp.”

“They wouldn’t have you anyway, not after they saw you were my kid.” Oh, there was a story in there but his dad would never tell him, no matter how many times he begged him to. “High school, college, and then the police academy, if that is still what you want to do when you’re done with college.”

“I’m set on my path, I don’t have any plans to change it.” Stiles had wanted to be a cop for as a long as he could remember, he had never dreamt of being anything else. “Why? You don’t want me to be a deputy?”

“I would love for you to join the family business, but I want you to know that you have more options than that.” His father commented as the rap of knuckles pounding against the door echoed through the room. “Come in!”

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Bobby greeted as he stepped into the office. “Bobby Singer. We’ve met a few times before. I’m Sam and Dean Winchester’s uncle and Derek Hale’s father.”

“I remember.” The sheriff nodded. “You are here because of Derek’s arrest. A body was found on his property. I had to bring him in.”

“I understand that, but he didn’t kill that girl. He would not he killed his own sister.” Bobby stated firmly. “He came looking for her when she stopped checking in. He found her body.”

“Given the state of the body, the injuries Laura sustained, it looked more like a hunter sending a message than a werewolf attack.” Stiles father reasoned. “I had to bring Derek in, not only for questioning after the body was recovered, but for his own safety, in case the hunters that killed Laura were still out in the woods.”

“Oh they are, Stiles and I ran into them the other night.” Bobby sent a fleeting look in Stiles direction. “Chris Argent and his henchman. They claim they had nothing to do with what happened to Laura.”

“Naturally.” John rolled his eyes. “They wouldn’t very well confess to it, especially to you.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Stiles jumped out of his chair and thrust an accusing finger in his father’s face. “You know about hunters and werewolves and all this supernatural crap!”

“So do you.” His dad deadpanned, looking entirely unimpressed by his outburst. “I was friends with the Hales for years. You don’t think I picked up on a few things? To be honest, though, it was Jax who spilled the beans.”

“What did he do?” Stiles could not imagine a single scenario where his brother would willfully give out that information.

“He had to cancel a weekend with you to go help Dean on a hunt. He was so focused on getting to Dean as quickly as possible, that he couldn’t come up with a worthwhile lie, so he gave me the truth.” His dad divulged, narrowing his eyes at him. “Somehow, I don’t think the supernatural is a _new_ revelation to you.”

“He tricked Dean’s daddy into giving up that truth with a question about zombies and ghosts.” Bobby muttered and a made a ‘what can you do’ motion with his hands. “He’d done the talk you in circles thing and then the rapid fire questions thing, and Dean’s daddy had completely forgotten who he was talking to.”

“Many people have gotten caught in that vortex.” His father chuckled knowingly. “Stiles, now that we each know the other is aware of the supernatural, why don’t you tell me what you and Scott have been doing out in the woods.”

“Well, um, that first night you and the deputies caught me in the preserve, Scott was bitten by a werewolf.” Stiles figured if his dad knew about the supernatural, then he should know about Scott to. “He went to talk to Derek yesterday and smelt something dead on the property, so we went to dig it up.”

“And you couldn’t have given Derek or me a heads up?” Bobby looked a second away from popping him on the back of the head.

“I’m sorry.” He slumped his shoulders, a small effort to escape the man’s scrutinizing gaze. “I didn’t actually think we would find anything. Scott isn’t the most perceptive, and he’s only been a werewolf for a minute. I didn’t think he could properly identify scents.”

“Better question,” His dad started. “Who is going to tell Melissa that her son is now a werewolf? Keeping her in the dark could be very dangerous for her when there are hunters after her son.”

“That sounds like a job for the two of you,” Stiles glanced between the older men. “Bobby, you have a werewolf son, so you can offer her some personal insights. And Dad, she knows you, she’ll trust what you have to say. If I tell her, she’ll think I’m only joking.”

“You’re not wrong.” His dad sighed tiredly. “All right. We will handle Melissa. You just make sure Scott doesn’t kill anyone, especially you.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to be easy.” Stiles would be lucky if that task wasn’t damn near impossible. “He’s dead set on playing in the lacrosse game tonight, since he’s first line and all. Considering his lack of control during practice, I’m gonna go out on the limb and say that an aggressive sport and newly turned werewolf don’t really mix.”

“Gee, you think?” Bobby quipped. “Sheriff, you and I will talk to Scott’s mama about her boy’s new abilities this afternoon. Tonight, I’ll go with Derek to the lacrosse game to be an extra set of eyes in the bleachers, while Stiles keeps watch from the field.”

“Bench.” Stiles corrected, it was laughable to think Finstock would ever put him on the field. “Dad, that means you will have to question Derek and let him go.”

“I was planning on it.”

* * *

 

Jax was beginning to wonder if the drugs Tig bought weren’t as strong as the dealer had led them to believe, or if they just hadn’t added enough to the coffee they were giving the deputies. Either the way, the cops weren’t dropping as quickly as Jax would have liked them too. Patience was never his strong suit, which was probably why he snapped when his phone rang.

”What?”

 _“You’re never in a good mood when I call,”_ Dean droned over the line. _“I should just make you call me from now on.”_

“Shit. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t really his fault. How was he supposed to know Dean would be calling? “It’s been one of those days, man.”

_“What’s going on?”_

“We’re butting heads with the cops,” As if that was anything new. “Trying to see who will get to the rapist first.”

 _“Rapist?”_   The hunter’s voice wavered slightly. _“Who—“_

“A little girl, the daughter of a friend of the club.” Oswald had been an ally of SAMCROs since the beginning. “He asked us to find the son of a bitch who did it.”

_“The girl okay?”_

“She’s alive.” He would bet that it would be some time before she was ever _okay_ again. “Her mom’s keeping her from giving up any information about the guy who did it. I think Mom is gonna go to the hospital to see if she can change Mrs. Oswald’s mind.”

 _“I’m sure she will be her usual gentle self.”_ Dean retorted impassively. _“You want some good news?”_

“Sure.” He could always use some good news.

_“Someone broke into my dad’s storage locker.”_

“How is that good news?” Jax was usually pretty good at deciphering Winchester logic, but he was having a little trouble this time.

 _“The idiots who broke in stole a curse box, but Sam and I got it back. Dude, there was a freaking rabbit’s foot in it.”_ Dean explained, sounding like an overexcited puppy. _“A rabbit’s foot!”_

“Okay?” He must have been missing something, because he did not understand the hunter’s enthusiasm over a cheap trinket.

 _“It’s a good luck charm, dumbass.”_ Dean revealed with a tone that suggested Jax was an idiot. _“It works too. We’ve won a couple grand off scratch tickets. Sam just happened to find a really expensive watch lying on the ground. It’s insane.”_

“Cool.” It was great for them. The Winchesters could use all the good luck they could get. “You’ll be able to lay off the credit card scams for a while.”

 _“We’re bringing the rabbit’s foot to you.”_ The hunter told him. _“We thought it could help Abel.”_

“Abel’s doing great, Dean.” His son was tough, got stronger every day. “I’d rather you guys keep it while you’re hunting. It could keep you both safe.”

 _“Sammy and I have survived this long without any good luck.”_ Dean chuckled mirthlessly. _“Abel needs it more than us. We’re already on our way back to Charming to give it to him.”_

“You have been spending an awful lot of time here with me.” Not that Jax minded, it was exactly what he wanted. “I’m beginning to think you like me or something.”

 _“Or something.”_ The hunter chuckled. _“I hate to disappoint you, but we do have ulterior motive for heading back your way.”_

“Oh yeah?”

 _“We kinda want to scope out Bobby’s kid.”_ Dean confessed and quickly came to his own defense. _“We don’t want to interfere or anything. We just want to know that Bobby is safe.”_

“Bobby will kick you and your brother’s asses up and down the block if you treat him like he can’t take care of himself.” Jax understood the Winchesters trepidation, they were afraid Bobby would act with his heart and not his head when it came to Derek. “There’s a simple solution to this.”

_“I’m listening.”_

“Your new sort of adoptive little brother lives in the same town as my baby brother.” If anything, that proved it really was a small world after all. “You’ve already got an inside man. Why don’t you utilize him?”

 _“I’ve tried. The brat won’t answer his phone.”_ Dean griped. _“I know he’s got school, but it could’ve been an emergency. He should have at least called me back. He’s usually pretty good about that.”_

“Well, I may have gotten him arrested last night.” Jax admitted smugly. “That could be why he’s not answering or calling you back.”

 _“You got your own brother arrested? That’s cold, man.”_ Dean chastised. _“He must have really pissed you off.”_

“He was digging up bodies out in the woods.” Which, yes, upon hearing about it, had pissed Jax off. “I called his dad and told him what he was doing. I wasn’t gonna risk him getting bitten by a werewolf or getting shot by one of those hunters that are after Bobby’s kid.”

 _“Oh, well, if it was his dad taking him in then it doesn’t really count as having him arrested.”_ Dean deduced pragmatically. _“What the fuck is that kid thinking going back out to the woods?”_

“I don’t know, man.” Jax had been asking himself that same question. “I know his dad will lecture him about it, but maybe you and I should have a chat with him to.”

“Jax!” Clay called out to him from the clubhouse doorway. “It’s time to go.”

“Yeah, I’m coming!” He let his stepfather know before addressing the man he was on the phone with once more. “Dean, we might have a location on that rapist I was telling you about. I gotta go.”

_“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”_

“Later.” Jax flipped his phone closed and shoved it into his pocket. He ambled over to his bike, surprised to find his mother waiting for him there. “Hey Ma.”

“Hi baby,” She kissed his cheek. “I’m headed to St. Thomas to check on the baby. And I’m gonna see if I can get in to talk to Tristen.”

“Okay.” Any information the girl could give his mother about who attacked her would help them find the son of a bitch. “Do what you can.”

“I will.”

“Hey, um, about Tristen, since you found out what happened to her, you’ve been a little off.” Jax had noticed his mother’s distraction all day. “Are you okay?”

“When you’re a parent and you see a child get hurt, you always think _what if that was my baby_ ,” She shuddered at the very thought of it. “I just can’t get that out of my head, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to worry, Mom. I’m all grown up.” He wasn’t a little kid who needed his mama to protect him. “I can take care of myself.”

“It doesn’t matter how old you are, Jackson. You’ll always be my baby and I will always do everything in my power to protect you.”

* * *

 

The claustrophobic atmosphere of the hospital had Gemma bolting for the parking lot as soon as she finished speaking with Tristen. She didn’t expect to run into Tristen’s mother outside the hospital entrance, she had planned to talk to her at some point, but she didn’t think it would be so soon. A part of her wanted to leave the woman be, to let Karen have those few moments of peace she so obviously needed, however the part of her that needed to say her piece won out, as it usually did.

“Had a little conversation with Tristen.” Gemma stated pointedly, she had no intention of skirting around the topic.

“What?” Karen rounded on her, rage painting her features. “Why would you be talking to my daughter?”

“I told her I knew about the secret.” She did feel a little ashamed for lying to the girl, but it had to be done. “She seemed relieved.”

“What the hell did you say to her?”

“She remembers everything, doesn’t she? You don’t want the trial or messy press.” Gemma could understand that, but she also knew that it would do more harm than good. “You just want to sweep it under the rug.”

“Don’t you judge me.” Karen snarled defensively.

“I’m not judging you. You don’t know me and I got no idea what it’s like to be you.” For two people who grew up in the same town, they were from two entirely different worlds. “What your little girl is going through and what is going through your mind, I know something about that.”

“Like hell you do.” Karen sneered, angered by Gemma’s audacity to claim to know how she felt.

“My baby was hurt once, like Tristen was.” She hoped her son would forgive her one day, if Karen decided to share that with anyone. “It wasn’t a stranger, like it was with Tristen. It was someone he knew. He was just a little boy, hadn’t started sixth grade yet, still wore Batman pajamas, and got up early on Saturday’s to watch cartoons. He was just my little boy, just like Tristen is your little girl.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“He didn’t want to tell anyone either. He did not want the world to know what happened to him.” Her son hadn’t even told her, she had gotten that information second hand. “Those who needed to know were told, and that included the cops. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted to forget what happened, he needed the bitch that violated him to be locked up so she could never hurt him again. It was the only way he could feel safe.”

“If they arrest this guy, everyone puts a face to the crime, and then it becomes real.” Karen spoke as if denying it ever happened would erase the assault from existence entirely. “And for the rest of her life in Charming, she’s not going to be Tristen. She’s going to be the girl that was raped at Fun Town.”

“Sweetheart, in her head, she’ll always be the girl who was raped at Fun Town.” Trying to convince Tristen to keep it all inside would only succeed in destroying the girl. “Only thing worse than everyone knowing, is no one knowing. My baby never told his brother or friends what happened, and for a very long time, when he was with them, I watched him struggle to pretend that everything was okay, that nothing had changed. Burying something like that is not a burden you ever want to put on a child.”

“It was one of the carnies, a guy dressed like a clown.” Tears poured down Karen’s face as she finally accepted what had happened to her child. “He raped Tristen.”

* * *

 

Aside from golf, lacrosse had to be the most boring sport Bobby had ever watched. A half hour into the game, he was almost hoping Scott would wolf out to bring some excitement to the night. Although, with Argent seated a few rows down on the bleachers, a werewolf sighting probably wasn’t the best idea.

“You would think a sport that’s supposed to be violent would be entertaining.” Bobby commented offhandedly to his son. “I don’t really see the appeal here.”

“I don’t either.” Derek shrugged as his eyes tracked a certain player on the field. “You and Stilinski talked to Scott’s mom. How did she take it?”

“Not well. She thought we were pulling her leg.” It was expected, he supposed. “It’s gonna take her some time to come to terms with it.”

“Did it take you long with me?” The wolf asked apprehensively. “I could have gone either way. I could have been born human.”

“I always knew you’d take after your mama and be a wolf.” He was under no illusions about his puny human genes beating out Talia’s werewolf bloodline. “It was never something I had to choose to accept or not. It’s who you were gonna be. There’s nothing wrong with what you are. I’ve loved you, unconditionally, since the day I found out you were mine.”

“D-Did you love my mom?” The guarded lit to Derek’s tone suggested it was something that had been on his mind for some time. “I know she love my da- _Bellamy_ , but did you love her?”

“Talia and I loved each other as friends. It was never romantic.” The night they shared was one of adrenaline-fueled passion. Talia had assisted him on a hunt and something had just sparked between them. “I cared about your mother very much. I’m sorry if I didn’t love her in the way you want me to. The only woman I ever loved like that was my wife.”

“Why didn’t you have any kids with her?” Derek took his eyes off the field to gaze imploringly at his father. “Unless you did.”

“You are the only child I’ve ever had.” However, he did consider the Winchesters boys to be his kids all the same. “My wife wanted children, but I didn’t. The last fight we ever had was about kids and my vow to never have any.”

“Why? Did you not like kids—“

“I break everything I touch.” It was something his father had told him when he was young that had stuck with him his entire life. “I didn’t want to do that to a child.”

“I do that.” Derek ducked his head in shame. “I break the things I touch too.”

“That’s not true. I don’t want to hear that come out of your mouth again.” That was the last thing he ever wanted his son to believe about himself. “If you think that about yourself, then you are dead wrong.”

“You’re wrong too. You don’t break things.” Derek noted meaningfully. “You d-didn’t break me.”

“I want to help you.” Bobby would do everything humanly possible to help his son cope with the loss of his sister. “You know, I wanted you and Laura to come stay with me after the fire, but you were gone before I got here. I think you should come live with me now. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I have to find out who killed Laura.” Derek’s voice hardened at the mention of his older sister. “The Argent’s got away with the fire. I won’t let them get away with killing Laura too.”

“ _We_ won’t let them get away with it.” In no way would he allow his son to take on a family of hunters on his own. “We’re in this together, son. You’re not alone.”

“ _We_ stop the Argents.” Derek agreed sternly. “And then, if you still want me to come live with you, I’ll go with you to Sioux Falls.”

* * *

 

John made a point to try to attend all of his son’s lacrosse games, despite the fact that Stiles never actually made it onto the field. It was the principal of it, he wanted his son to know he supported him, even if he wasn’t playing. It was something his father had done for him, no matter how busy he’d gotten at the station, he always found time to slip away, even if it was just for a few minutes, to watch John’s baseball games. John did his best to implement his father’s parenting practices with Stiles.

His son was currently sitting on the bench, cheering on his teammates enthusiastically. Stiles jovial attitude was belied by the tense set of his shoulders. The kid was on alert, worried that his friend would lost control mid-game, or that the hunters in the stands would launch an attack unprovoked. His son was strung tighter than a bowstring, and he wasn’t the only one if the way John nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone vibrated in his hand was anything to go by.

“Way to be sharp and on-guard, Sheriff.” He muttered to himself as he brought the device up to his ear. “Stilinski.”

 _“It’s me.”_ Gemma’s voice filtered over the line. _“How’s our boy?”_

“Our boy….” If anything, the word choice was an indicator of her mood. “He’s fine. I’m at his game right now. What’s wrong, Gem?”

_“Nothing.”_

“Uh huh.” He might buy that if she didn’t sound so somber. “Did something happen with Jax or the baby?”

 _“They’re both good.”_ The older woman assured him.

“You don’t just call me out of the blue when everything is fine.” The phone conversations between them were never easy or simple when they came out of nowhere. “Tell me what’s going on.”

 _“The daughter of a friend of mine, a thirteen year old girl, was raped at the carnival last night_.” Gemma’s voice went tight as she spoke, as if the words were being ripped from her throat. _“And I needed to know that our son was okay.”_

“I promise he’s fine.” Under the circumstances, he could understand her need for reassurance that their child was safe. He was the same way when certain cases crossed his desk. “He’s stressed, but that’s pretty much his default setting.”

 _“That kid was born riddled with anxiety.”_ She grumbled under her breath. _“It’s only gotten worse with age.”_

“I’ve noticed.” It was kind of hard to miss. “The little girl who was assaulted, is she doing all right?”

 _“As good as she can be, I guess_.” Gemma reasoned thoughtfully. _“Her mother didn’t want to cooperate with the cops. She wanted to make it all disappear and act like it never happened.”_

“She can’t do that.” Reacting that way could have disastrous consequences for the little girl. “I hope you convinced her to do otherwise, spoke to her mother-to-mother.”

 _“I did. She told the deputies what happened, who did it.”_ Seeing as the family was a friend of Gemma’s, the Sons would more than likely get to the culprit before Charming PD did. _“The girl’s father wants revenge, the bloody kind.”_

“That’s only natural.” When your child is hurt, in any way, the instinct to protect them at any and all cost is so strong that commonsense goes out the window. “In my experience, revenge is never about the victim. The person out for revenge may claim it is, might even believe it themselves, but it’s not. It doesn’t help the victim or change what happened to them. It’s not a quick fix. It’s only about making themselves feel better.”

 _“You’re probably right.”_ Her agreement of his assessment did not mean she would refrain from seeking out revenge if someone she loved was hurt. _“But even you’re not immune to the need for revenge, sweetheart. If the bitch who attacked our boy ever came back, you’d kill her.”_

“I would shoot her point blank if she took one step near Stiles.” He wouldn’t apologize for it, would even be justified in doing it. “I would only be protecting my son if I killed her before she could hurt him again. Killing her afterward would be revenge. There’s a difference.”

 _“I’ll remember that if I ever get picked up for murder.”_ She laughed bitterly. _“You should have let me handle that vile whore after it happened.”_

“As a sheriff, I can promise you that if the suspect turns up dead or missing under mysterious circumstances, the victim’s family members are usually the first ones we bring in for questioning.” They did have the most motive for wanting the suspect dead. “You should tell your friend that before he does something that could put him behind bars. His daughter needs him more than he needs revenge.”

_“I think it’s a little late to warn him off his revenge plot.”_

“I didn’t hear that.” He would like as much deniability as possible when it came to the illegal activities that Gemma and her friends got upto. “I’m sure if you flash Unser a smile he’ll run the investigation into a brick wall, and make sure your friend never even sees the inside of an interrogation room.”

 _“You just never liked Wayne.”_ She acknowledged knowingly. _“It’s obvious by how you spit out his name like it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.”_

“I didn’t trust him when he worked as a deputy under my dad and I trust him less now.” Surprisingly enough, Unser’s close relationship with the club had little to do with John’s dislike for the man. “The point is, your friend can and will probably get away with whatever it is he plans to do, which I’m _sure_ SAMCRO will have no part in whatsoever.”

 _“Of course they won’t. They are fine upstanding citizens who would never harm a living soul.”_ The generous amount of sarcasm in her tone was not lost on him. _“All right, Johnny, I’m gonna let you go. Clay will be home soon.”_

“Okay.” He never questioned why she treated their conversations like secrets, as if Clay would be angry if he knew they were speaking.

 _“Will you, uh, will you give Stiles a kiss for me?”_ She requested tentatively. _“Don’t tell him it’s from me, though, or he’ll never accept it.”_

“I’ll do it.” His son had always been wary of Gemma’s affection, always acted as if she would comfort him with one hand and slap him with the other. “I know you’re worried about him, things in Charming are bringing up bad memories, but I promise he’s okay.”

 _“I’ll have to take your word for it.”_ The woman didn’t have much of a choice, unless she planned to drive to Beacon Hills to see for herself. _“I’ll talk to you later, Johnny.”_

“Bye.”

He slid his phone into the pocket of his jeans and walked to the bench where his son was seated. Stiles had busied himself by chewing absently on his lacrosse glove as he watched the game. John came up behind him and bent down to press a kiss to his buzzed hair.

“Love you too, Pop.” Stiles tilted his head back to offer him a grin. “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine.” He gave his son a small smile of his own. “You’re doing okay, right? I know you’ve got a lot going on.”

“I’m good, Dad.” Stiles swiveled his body on the bench until they were face-to-face and he was no longer straining his neck. “What’s wrong?”

“Hey guys,” Bobby announced his presence as he came to stand beside them. “I gotta head to Charming. Derek’s gonna stay here for the rest of the game to make sure Scott remains in control.”

“What’s happening in Charming?” Stiles shot up from the bench in a panic, only to be pushed back down by a hand on his shoulder, courtesy of the hunter.

“Nothing that I know of. Sam and Dean are headed back there so they can give something to your brother, something that none of them should be messing around with.” Bobby explained. “They left a message on my phone asking about it, but now they’re not answering my calls. I’m gonna meet ‘em in Charming, hopefully before they can make the hand off.”

“And if they do make the hand off?” Stiles inquired, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “If they give it to Jax, will he be in danger?”

“Not if he keeps his hands on it.” Bobby’s answer was not that _yes_ or _no_ that Stiles was probably looking for, but he seemed to accept it either way. “I’ll try to get it from Sam before it becomes a problem for your brother.”

“O-Okay.” Stiles might trust the hunter when it came to the Winchesters, but it was clear he did not feel the same way in regards to his big brother.

“I want to, uh, bite the bullet and introduce Derek to Sam and Dean.” Bobby cringed at the thought, like he knew that meeting couldn’t possibly end well. “But, like I said, he wants to stay here to keep an eye on Scott, and we haven’t had a chance to check out the Camaro. I don’t want him driving it until we know Argent didn’t mess with it.”

“I can drive him down in the morning.” Stiles volunteered himself, which probably had more to do with wanting to check on Jax than it did with helping out Bobby and Derek. “I can miss one day of school, right, Dad?”

“Just one.” He tended to give Stiles some leeway when it came to emergencies in Charming, and sometimes that meant letting him have a day or so off school. So long as he didn’t make a habit of it, John didn’t mind. “I’ll call you in sick tomorrow.”

“Cool. So I will play taxi for Derek,” Stiles pointed a finger to himself and then to Bobby. “You are gonna look out for Jax until I get to Charming. Dad, that means you are on Scott duty.”

“No.” John had at least one amendment to the tasks his son was handing out. “I am on sheriff duty, if we’d like to keep a roof over our heads. Melissa is gonna have to come to terms with what her son is sooner or later, so she can watch him tomorrow.”

“You can be the one to tell her that.”

* * *

 

It was early in the morning when Dean and Sam arrived at Teller-Morrow. Despite the early hour, things in the garage were in full swing, busy as they ever were. Dean kept his eyes peeled on the garage bays, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jax bent over the hood of a car.

“What is it Dad used to say when we’d pout?” Sam asked amusedly as he swung the car door shut. “Oh yeah. _Your face is gonna get stuck like that.”_

“So?” Dean had no idea why his brother was bringing that up now.

“You’re pouting, Dean.” Sam shook his head. “You look like you lost your favorite toy.”

“Shut up.” He superstitiously wiped a hand down his face to erase all potential remnants of the expression.

“Bobby’s here.” Sam nodded to the beat up Chevelle parked outside the clubhouse.

“He got here last night.” Jax informed them as he sauntered over from the office. “He’s been bitching at Piney about you two being idjits.”

“We haven’t even done anything…lately.” Nothing was coming to mind any way. “Sammy, you gonna give him the thing?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sam removed the rabbit’s foot from his pocket and tossed it to the Son. “There you go.”

“This is the good luck charm, huh?” Jax inspected the totem with obvious scrutiny. “It doesn’t look like much.”

“It works. Trust me.” Dean took the winning scratch tickets from his jacket to show them off.

“I guess you’re buying dinner tonight.” Jax smirked, shoving the rabbit’s foot into his pocket.

“Excuse me,” A feminine voice with a strong accent interrupted them.

“Can I help you, darlin?” Jax turned his best smile on the beautiful brunette.

“Well,” She eyed the name patch on Jax’s grease-stained shirt. “ _Jax_ , from the Teller-Morrow stitched on that shirt, I am going to assume you work here.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jax nodded. “You having some car trouble?”

“There’s a rattling sound that just started.” She inclined her head to give his body a long once-over. “I have a very important appointment I need to get to this morning. Do you think you can fit me in?”

“Why don’t you come with me to the office, we’ll get your paperwork started, and I’ll see what I can do about getting your car checked out.” Jax shot Dean an apologetic smile as he led the woman away. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Bela Lugosi.”

Dean wasn’t even mad as he watched Jax wrap an arm around the chick’s waist and guide her away. He might have been a little jealous, but he couldn’t be certain if it was Jax or the woman he was jealous of.

“You’re pouting again.” Sam pointed out mockingly.

“Shut up.” Dean did not pout. His brother was just crap at reading facial expressions. “I guess we should go talk to Bobby.”

“Jax did say he was bitching about us to Piney. I bet they’re already tipsy, if not drunk.” Sam mused with a sight. “I mean, it’s nice that Bobby has a friend, but…”

“They’re bad influences on each other.” Dean loved both of the older men, but introducing them had been a horrible idea given their predilection to the bottle. “If we’re lucky, he’ll be too drunk to yell at us for whatever stupid thing he thinks we did.”

“I don’t think he’s ever been too drunk to yell at us.”

“There’s a first time for everything. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

They didn’t make it halfway across the parking lot before Dean heard a yelp emit from his brother followed quickly by the distinct _splat_ of a body hitting the pavement. Dean stalled and glanced over his shoulder to see Sam lying stomach-first on the ground.

“Wow, you suck.” He couldn’t help but laugh at his brother’s misfortune. “Wait. How was that good luck?”

“I don’t have good luck without the rabbit’s foot and we just gave that to Jax.” Sam reminded him as he pulled himself to his feet. “It’s just regular old me now.”

“So you’re just clumsy.” Dean could have sworn Sam grew out his clumsy stage after his last growth spurt.

“Or maybe…maybe my luck turns bad now?” Sam speculated bleakly. “It was in a curse box for a reason.”

“If you lose it, your lucks turns bad.” That made sense, actually. “I wonder how bad.”

“Bobby would know. We should talk to him.”

“We should talk to him.” That was a brilliant idea. “Let’s do that.”

* * *

 

Stiles always tried to get an early start when he made plans to head to Charming. Derek, he learned, did not appreciate being woken up at an ungodly hour, if the growl he had greeted Stiles with meant anything. However, the wolf did shut up pretty quickly when Stiles handed him a thermos of coffee and a bagel.

“So, have you ever been here before?” Stiles asked as they passed the _Entering Charming_ sign.

“No.” Derek had mostly stuck with one word responses throughout the majority of the trip. “I, uh, I have a couple cousins that live here, I think. My mom’s cousins.”

“Hmm.” Stiles had met a few Hales during his stays in Charming. “Is one of them Deputy David and the other an asshole- I mean, a politician?”

“I only met Jacob a few times, but asshole is an accurate description of him.” A smile pulled at the corner of Derek’s lips. “Jacob and David’s grandfather was my mom’s uncle. He was born human, and I guess he became resentful of werewolves. He left Beacon Hills as soon as he could and settled down here.”

“Back in those days, if you were looking to start over, this was the place to do it.” Charming was just a nice quiet place to raise a family a few short decades ago, before the crime rate had risen and it had become a haven for a certain MC. “As far as towns go, I like it here. I like it a hell of a lot more than Beacon Hills. Charming is working class, everyone is more or less on the same level. Beacon Hills is overflowing with the wealthy and self-entitled.”

“You’re classist.”

“And you are one of the wealthy. Don’t think I don’t remember you, Derek Hale, just like you remember me.” Stiles remembered far more than Derek probably thought he did. “Your family was different than the other well-to-do families in Beacon Hills. Your family started out working class and made something of themselves. They never forgot where they started, though. They never really fit in with Beacon Hills high society. Your parents hung out with my parents instead of trading curtsies with the Martins and Whittemores. It wasn’t socially appropriate for them to mingle with us commoners, but they never cared.”

“Why do you know so much about my family?” Derek questioned with a quirked brow. “About how they started out?”

“I spent a lot of time at your house when I was kid.” During the school year, when his mother was ill, the Hales had been his after-school babysitters. “You were always locked in your room. Laura had a phone permanently glued to her ear. Cora was pretty anti-social. I hung out with your uncle Peter. He liked to tell stories. Sometimes to keep me occupied, or to get me to sit still, he would attempt to bore me with the Hale family history.”

“It always put me and my sisters to sleep. It probably had the opposite effect on you.” Derek murmured. “Wouldn’t mind hearing one of his history lessons now.”

“Suppose you wouldn’t.” Stiles was aware it was a painful subject given Peter’s condition, so he tried to alleviate some of Derek’s turmoil by moving on to a safer topic. “I remember you from more than just Beacon Hills, you know. I remember you from Sioux Falls too.”

“Sioux Falls.…”

“At Bobby’s place. Jax took me up there once when I was little and he wanted to check on Dean, he was hurt or something.” His memory of that time was a little hazy, his mother had been so sick, everything going on around him had been nothing but a blur. “I went to explore the junkyard when I got bored watching my brother flirt. I found a fort made of old car parts, with a sign that read ‘ _Property of D.S.H_.’ Derek Singer Hale.”

“It was my hide out. If a hunter showed up at Dad’s place unexpectedly, I was supposed to stay in the fort until they were gone.” Derek revealed as he used a finger to trace his initials on his pant leg. “I remember you finding me in there. You came in without knocking.”

“The sign didn’t say _keep out_.” How was he supposed to know anyone was in there? “You didn’t seem to mind when I came in.”

“You just made yourself at home, pulled a deck of cards out of your pocket, and asked me to play.” The wolf scrunched up his face almost comically at the ridiculousness of Stiles actions. “You didn’t go running back in the house to tell anyone who would listen that I was there.”

“I figured you were hiding for reason and didn’t think it was so you could attack Bobby once he was alone. There was no reason for me to tell anyone you were there.” Despite popular opinion, he was fully capable of keeping his mouth shut. “Oh, hey, we’re about to pass the police station. Wanna stop by and say ‘hi’ to your cousin?”

“No. I hardly know him. And he’s probably busy with his deputy duties.” Derek shifted his gaze out the passenger side window. “Like dealing with idiots, like this one passed out on the station lawn.”

“What idiot?” Stiles followed the wolf’s line of sight to see the prone form of a very familiar man lying in the grass. “Son of a bitch. That’s my idiot!”

“Your idiot?” The heavy dose of disbelief in Derek’s voice was seriously unwarranted.

“Well, he’s not my idiot yet, but he will be some day.” Stiles said confidently as he pulled the Jeep up to the curb outside Charming PD. “I’ll be right back.”

Stiles hopped out of the car and jogged over to his incapacitated friend. He tried not to laugh at the man’s state of undress, naked save for an adult diaper, his boots, a sign stapled to his chest, and the pacifier taped to his lips. It painted a truly hilarious picture, one that Stiles almost hated to disturb.

“Hey man,” He nudged the body with his foot. “Juice, dude, wake up. Time to rejoin the land of the living.”

It took a moment to rouse the older man, and longer than that for him to regain his bearings. He stared up at Stiles in confusion and tried to speak, only for his speech to be obstructed by the pacifier in his mouth. Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle as Juice went cross-eyed trying to focus on the object while he yanked it out of his mouth.

“Ow.” Juice smacked his lips as he climbed to his feet. “Stiles.”

“Juice.” He cleared his throat and forced his eyes to remain on Juice’s face. “I really wanna ask how you ended up like this.”

“Please don’t.” Juice looked down at himself, wincing as he took in his appearance. “I’m not even sure how I ended up here.”

“Every all right here?” Deputy Chief Hale asked, stalking toward them like he was primed and ready to arrest them for loitering outside the station.

“Yeah, David, we’re good here.” Stiles assured the deputy. “Juice was just…uh….”

“Really? This is when you blank out?” Juice blanched before flashing the officer a nervous grin as he pulled the cardboard sign from his chest. “I’m, um, I’m late for my eight o’clock feeding.”

“Right.” Hale rolled his eyes. “You must have really pissed off your buddies.”

“Yes. Yes, he did.” That was the only plausible explanation for all of this. “I am gonna give him a ride, so you don’t have to arrest him for indecent exposure.”

“You do that.”

Stiles wrapped a hand around Juice’s bicep and dragged him off to the Jeep. He shoved the Son unceremoniously into the back and reclaimed his own spot in the driver seat.

“Here,” He took his half-full thermos out of the cup holder and held it out to Juice. “It’s coffee. I think you could use it.”

“Thanks.” Juice sipped from the cup and seemed to take notice of the main in the passenger seat. “Who’s the new guy?”

“Oh, that’s Derek.” Stiles replied as he maneuvered the Jeep back onto the road. “He’s Bobby’s kid.”

“Bobby _Elvis_?”

“Bobby _Singer_.”

“Oh.”

The remainder of the ride to Teller-Morrow was a quiet one. Stiles assumed Derek didn’t have much to say, while Juice was nearly lethargic, still coming down from whatever it was he had taken or drank the previous night. Stiles didn’t mind the silence, things were always so loud when SAMCRO was involved that he tried to soak in the silence when it was available.

“Here we are, folks.” Stiles drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he parked the Jeep outside the clubhouse. “Taxi Stilinski is out of service. Tip graciously.”

He was barely out of the car when Juice practically fell out after him. Stiles reached out to steady the other man, letting his hand linger on Juice’s bare chest a little longer than necessary. He would swear to his dying day that he was not in complete control of himself when his fingers skimmed over the pinprick wounds left behind by the staples that were lodged in his skin.

“You should, um,” Stiles licked his lips as he glided his fingers to the matching injuries on the opposite side of Juice’s chest. “These are bleeding. You should clean them out, so they don’t get infected.”

“Mhm.” Juice covered Stiles hand with his own, not pushing it away so much as holding it in place. “I will.”

The sudden sound of someone wolf whistling nearby startled them apart. Stiles whipped around to find the source of the noise and spotted Dean trudging over from the clubhouse.

“Nice diaper, Juice.” The hunter snickered. “I didn’t know you were into that kinda thing, Stiles.”

“Don’t kink shame, bro.” Juice scolded sardonically.

“Hey, no shame here.” Dean actually seemed a little offended by the insinuation. “To each his own, man.”

“To be clear, this,” Juice pinched a tab on the diaper. “Is not for any pleasure on my part.”

“My money’s on Tig.” Stiles could picture the shit-eating grin that had to be on Tig’s face when he’d finished dressing Juice up. “You going somewhere, Dean?”

“I gotta hunt down a bitch named Bela who pick pocketed a rabbit’s foot off your brother.” Dean scanned the parking lot, as if he might find the woman there. “Until I get back and we destroy it, Sam and Jax’s luck is gonna go from bad to worse.”

“Great.” Stiles could officially call bullshit on whatever reassurances Bobby had given him the night before. “I should have been here last night. I should have driven here after Bobby told me you were bringing something dangerous to Jax. I let him talk me out of it.”  

“It’s not his fault.” Derek interjected, and Stiles had almost forgotten he was there. “Dad wouldn’t have kept you from your brother if he thought he was in immediate danger.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you.” He wasn’t trying to blame the elder hunter for anything, not when it was clearly Dean’s fault. “I should have been here in case the threat level rose.”

“ _Dad_ , huh?” Dean addressed the wolf with poorly concealed suspicion. “You’re Bobby’s son?”

“Yes.” Derek jammed his hands in his pockets and set his jaw, trying to appear menacing. “You’re one of the Winchesters?”

“Yes.” Dean parroted, shifting his stance so he stood up a little taller, as if the measly one extra inch of height he had on Derek would allow him to tower over the wolf. “I’m Dean.”

“You’re Dean, he’s Derek, that’s Juice, and I’m Stiles. There, now we’re all introduced. You can save the posturing, seeing who has the bigger stick, pissing on Bobby’s leg to mark you territory, for another time.” Stiles stepped between them to prevent any of that from happening. “Dean has a prior engagement, finding the chick with the rabbit’s foot. Right, Dean?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded and twirled the Impala’s keys around his index finger. “Stiles, do me a favor while I’m gone, keep an eye on my brother and yours. Don’t let their bad luck get them into any trouble.”

“How do expect me to do that?” Out of the two of them, Sam would be the easiest to deal with in that department, unlike Jax who was magnet for trouble. “What am I supposed to do with them?”

“I don’t know. Make sure Jax doesn’t get crushed by a car lift in the garage.” Dean cast a pointed glance to the lifts. “And find Sam’s shoe.”

“Find Sam’s shoe?” Stiles could not be hearing that request correctly.

“He lost it somewhere around here after he stepped in some gum.” Dean waved his hands as if it didn’t matter and Stiles had to agree.

“That’s not my problem.” He may have gone on a lost shoe hunt once or twice for Jax, after a drunken mishap on his brother’s part, however, that was for _his_ brother, no one else’s. “I’ll keep him from getting dead and that’s my final offer.”

“Deal.” Dean agreed as he headed to the Impala.

Stiles and his two passengers saw Dean off before making their way into the clubhouse. Various club members, as well as Sam and Bobby Singer, were scattered around the bar, drinking their Irish coffees, and munching on Bobby Elvis’s signature hash muffins. Just another day in Charming.

“Jesus Christ.” Gemma explained as she caught sight of them. “What the hell happened to you, Juice?”

“He fell asleep on the job.” Clay answered with a smirk. “It earned him a something very special.”

“I should have known _you_ were behind this.” Stiles spit at the older man. He knew Tig was the one who stripped Juice down and strapped the diaper on him, but it was all on Clay’s order. “Douchebag.”

“Did you guys at least get the bad guy?” Juice asked hopefully.

“We got him, Juicy.” Chibs clapped him on the shoulder.

“What bad guy?” No one had told Stiles there was a SAMCRO bad guy in play along with a cursed rabbit’s foot.

“Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart.” Gemma reached out to caress his cheek. “You okay, baby?”

“Y-Yes.” He replied uncertainly, flinching when she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve got a lot going on.” She offered him the same answer his father had. “Just wanted to make sure you were doing all right.”

“Right….” There was nothing odd about that or her sudden need to be affectionate with him.

“I’m gonna shower.” Juice jerked a thumb toward the hall. “What’d you guys do with my clothes?”

“I washed them for you last night.” Gemma informed him. “They’re folded up in the basket on the dryer.”

“I’ll get them for you.” Stiles could use the excuse to avoid any more unsolicited touches from the resident matriarch. “You should go shower.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

Stiles meandered his way around the crowd until he successfully made it to the kitchen. The area wasn’t what he would call small, but he still bumped into his brother on his way to the laundry machines near the back of the room. It was a small hit, but from the reaction it garnered it might as well have been a gunshot.

The cup in Jax’s hand slipped from his grip to the floor, shattering on impact. The steaming liquid contents coated the tile and splashed onto Jax’s pants and sneakers. The blond jerked back wildly, arms flailing as he smacked into the stove.

“Ow. Fuck.” Jax kicked out of his shoes. “Shit. Stiles, take these, and put ‘em in the sink before the coffee stain sets in.”

“You’re such a diva.” Stiles did as he was told, taking the formerly pristine white sneakers and dumping them into the sink, turning the tap water on low. “Shoes are supposed to be dirty, they are there to keep your feet clean.”

“I don’t like scuff marks on my shoes and I sure as hell don’t like coffee stains.” Jax griped, leaning back against the stovetop and taking a deep calming breath. “I guess that’s one way to wake up a little bit in the morning that doesn’t involve a cup of coffee.”

“Oh, there’s coffee involved. It’s everywhere but where you want it to be.” From what Stiles could see, it was soaking Jax’s jeans, as well as a few parts of his shirt. Noticing the few wet spots on the tee brought something else about the shirt to Stiles attention. “Um, Jackson?”

“What?”

“I’m, uh, I’m starting to see what Dean meant about the bad luck. You must’ve turned on the burner when you hit the stove.” He blindly grabbed a rag off the countertop. “You’re on fire.”

“What?” Jax repeated dumbly. “I’m on fire? What the hell does that mean?”

“Your arm. Your arm is on fire.” He shouted as he began swatting the flames to put them out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Jax shuffled away from him and hastily tore off his shirt. He dropped the fabric to the floor and started stomping it out the small fire, only to be reminded that his feet were only protected by socks when they too were set ablaze at first contact with the shirt.

“Son of a bitch!” Jax hopped around the kitchen in his effort get the socks off his feet before his skin could burn up with them. “Stiles, fucking help me!”

“Is this what I look like when I spaz out?” Stiles questioned as Jax fell on his ass. It might have made him a douchebag, but he seriously thought about pulling his phone out to record the entire thing. “Because this is fucking hilarious.”

“Stiles!” Jax snarled, slamming a palm down on the floor after finally managing to get his socks off his feet. “Help me put that out before this whole place goes up in flames.”

“I got it. Settle down.” He slipped on a pair of oven mitts to protect his hands before cautiously picking up the shirt and socks. “The coffee stains on your shoes might not be their only problem after this.”

“That’s fine. Just put the fire out!” Jax snapped and scrambled to his feet. “Be careful!”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He was as careful as he could be as he dropped the items on top of the sneakers in the sink and turned the faucet on full blast. “There you go. No more fire.”

“Thank fuck.” Jax scrubbed a hand down his face. “Holy shit.”

“If your luck is supernaturally shitty right now, why did you come into one of the most dangerous areas of the clubhouse?” There were far too many hazards in the kitchen for it to be safe for Jax or Sam. “You gonna try your hand at knife throwing next? Maybe try to load a pistol to test your luck?”

“I just wanted a cup of coffee.” Jax whined petulantly. “What are you doing in here? Besides shoving me, making me drop my coffee and set myself on fire.”

“I barely tapped you.” His big brother could be such a drama queen. “I came to get Juice’s clothes from dryer.”

“Okay?”

“You should have Chibs look at your feet, make sure there’s no damage.” It was better to be safe than sorry. “I’m gonna go give Juice his clothes. Try to stay out of dangerous places until I’m done. You and Sam should stick together. Use the buddy system to keep each other from getting very dead.”

Stiles snatched Juice’s folded up clothes out of the laundry basket and gave his brother a wide berth as he passed him, if only to avoid another misfortunate accident. He thought it was safe to push through the kitchen door, but the _umph_ followed by a _thump_ over someone hitting something solid told him otherwise. He really shouldn’t have been surprised to see it was Sam who had been smacked against the wall by the door.

“Dude, are you okay?” He had a feeling he would be asking that a lot today.

“I’m fine.” Sam rubbed the spot on his forehead that had made contact with the swinging door. “I was just trying to get something to drink.”

“Rethink that decision.” The last thing they needed was another fire in there. “Someone else can get you a drink or whatever else you need. Sit down and don’t touch anything.”

Stiles hoped Sam would heed his warning, but if he didn’t, Stiles was more than happy to get the hell out of the line of fire. He may have picked up his pace going down the hall to the apartment to avoid being part of another bad luck mishap.

“Hey,” He called out to Juice as he made his way across the room to the attached bath. “I brought your clothes.”

“Thanks.” Juice poked his head out of the curtain to give him a bright grin.

“What in the hell did you take last night?” Stiles asked as he set the clothing on the edge of the sink.

“I thought it was speed, but it wasn’t.” Juice careened unsteadily on his feet, causing him to latch on to the shower curtain bar to stay upright. “It knocked me out cold. Must have been strong.”

“Must have been.” It really had to be if Juice was still feeling some of the effects. “You okay?”

“Yep.” He drawled as his swayed back and forth, elbowing the curtain out of the way as he did so, leaving his glistening body on full display. “But, you know, I’m still late for my eight o’clock feeding.”

“Good god.” If Stiles were a different kind of man, he might take advantage of Juice’s impaired state, but alas, he was taught consent required sobriety. “I’ll have Gemma bring you a bottle.”

He left a confused Juice in his wake as he turned on his heels and hightailed it out of the room before he could do something stupid, like change his mind. He was greeted by equally confused faces of those still seated around the bar, when he made it back to the main room. He waved off their questioning glances and settled into a stool between his brother and Sam.

“You sure you wanna sit between the bad luck charms?” Opie chortled behind his coffee mug, earning a middle-fingered salute from Jax.

“I’ll risk it.” There was no way the pair could be any more a hazard to him than he was to himself on a good day.

“Love you too, baby brother.” Jax planted a sloppy kiss to his cheek.

“Did everyone get introduced to Derek?” Stiles asked, noting the wolf standing awkwardly beside Bobby. “Is everyone playing nice?”

“Yes.” Bobby nodded. “We’re all getting to know each other.”

“Good.” Maybe that could relieve some of the tension from the room. “Everyone’s making friends.”

“Speaking of friends, how's your BFF doing?” Jax asked curiously.

“Ask him yourself. He’s right there.” Stiles motioned to the old man nursing a beer at the end of the bar.

“No, stupid. Not Piney.” Jax facepalmed and clarified the question. “Your Beacon Hills BFF. _Scott._ How is Scott doing with the enhanced ability thing?”

“Fine, I guess. He controlled himself on the lacrosse field at our game.” Stiles had to give his buddy props for that.

“He won’t be fine if he keeps running around with Argent’s daughter.” Derek growled, eyes tinting blue ever so slightly.

“He’s thinking with his dick, not his brain. Almost everyone in this room can relate,” Stiles spread his arms wide to gesture to the Sons and hunters in the surrounding area. “Everyone but me.”

“Oh really? You’ve never let your cock lead you astray?” Tiggy snorted in disbelief.

“No, I have not. For example, my attraction to Juice has never been a secret.” He had never tried to hide it. “He sort of propositioned me in the bathroom and I politely declined.”

“Juice did what?” Jax choked on thin air, like the thought of anyone propositioning Stiles was that frightening.

“Nothing. Nevermind. Calm down before your hurt yourself.” He knocked his brother’s shoulder with his own, and considering what had happened in the kitchen, he really should have known better.

The small force behind the bump, mixed with Jax’s poor luck, resulted in the SAMCRO VP losing his balance and slipping off the stood. He shot his arm out and snagged a handful of Stiles shirt to keep himself upright, and ended up yanking Stiles down with him. In his own ‘oh my god, I’m falling’ panic, Stiles kicked out his leg to hook it on the bar stool next to him, but of fucking course it had to be Sam’s god damn chair and the only thing Stiles succeeded in doing was kicking the stool out from under him. The three of them landed in a messy pile on the hard clubhouse floor.

“Fuck.” Jax coughed and nudged Stiles arm. “You okay, little brother?”

“Yeah. You broke my fall.” He murmured as he rolled off his older brother. “You all right?”

“No. This bad luck crap is getting real old real fast.” Jax complained as he levered himself up. “Sam, you okay, kid?”

“I guess.” The younger Winchester didn’t even try to pick himself up off the floor. “Thanks for taking me down with you, Stiles.”

“Sorry.”

“Idjits.”

* * *

 

If there was ever any novelty in possessing an unfair amount of shitty luck, then it had most definitely worn off by nightfall. The club had come to a similar conclusion if the way they had all dispersed to avoid bodily injury was anything to go by. Jax couldn’t blame them, not when he and Sam had proven to be hazards, not only to each other, but to others as well.

As it was, there were only a few stragglers left in the clubhouse. Gemma, Piney, and Dean’s uncle Bobby were all chatting amongst themselves in the kitchen, safely out of the immediate danger zone. Stiles was fast asleep, stretched across the couch, his head pillowed on Jax’s lap. Jax and Sam were both nursing bruises on opposite ends of the main room, it had been decided that it was best if they kept a bit of distance from each other out of fear that their combined bad luck might actually end up killing them both. Derek was lingering by the bar, having been tasked with keeping an eye on them.

“I’m still not sure why I’m the one doing this.” The wolf admitted gruffly.

“You’re new here, so when they voted, you lost.” Jax explained as he repositioned himself on the sofa to better accommodate the teenager that had chosen to nap there.

“And we can’t do any real damage to you with our bad luck accidents,” Sam brought up the obvious difference between Derek and the others. ”Right? You have enhanced healing or something?”

“I heal faster than you do.” Derek acknowledged and nodded toward Stiles sleeping form. “He doesn’t. Should he be here? He’s already a little banged up.”

“He won’t leave.” Jax carded his fingers through his brother’s hair. “He keeps close when he thinks I’m in trouble, no matter how dangerous it could be.”

“My sister Cora was the same way....” The wolf recalled somberly.

“Did you get to see Bobby often when you were a kid?” Sam asked suddenly, not so subtly switching from one painful subject to one that could very well be just as uncomfortable. “His place was the closest thing Dean and I had to a home base. I don’t ever remember you being there.”

“I stayed with him on weekends and few weeks out of the summer. If he knew a hunter contact was coming by, he’d call my mom to come get me.” Derek crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I had a room on the second floor, he kept it locked when I wasn’t there so no one else could claim it. He came to Beacon Hills to visit me a lot.”

“Oh.” Sam toyed with the cuffs of his shirt anxiously. “He never told us about you so...I guess I thought he must not have been that involved in your life.”

“You’re a hunter, your kind kills mine.” Derek said critically. “The less hunters that knew about me and my family, the safer we were, the safer my dad was. If the Argents knew he was my dad, they would kill him for being a werewolf sympathizer.”

“Argent, as in the chick Stiles friend Scott is hot for? The people that killed your family?” Jax frowned sympathetically when Derek nodded in confirmation. “Stiles being friends with Scott would make him a werewolf sympathizer.”

“If you’re wondering if they are a danger to him, the answer is yes. They will use him any way they can to get to Scott, or me, since we’re kinda running in the same circles now.” Derek didn’t hold back or offer any worthless reassurances, Jax respected that. “But I guess you’re used to him being in danger with this MC stuff.”

“Stiles has never been hurt because of what I do.” Jax took a great amount of pride in knowing he had never allowed his baby brother to fall victim to club retaliation. “And I will not let hunters on a power trip hurt him either.”

“I can take care of myself.” Stiles mumbled groggily.

“Ssh.” Jax covered his brother’s eyes with a hand. “Go back to sleep.”

“’Kay.” Stiles yawned and quickly dozed back off.

“He’s so much more agreeable when he’s sleeping.” Jax chuckled and returned his hand to Stiles hair. “I mean it, though, if he winds up in the Argent’s crosshairs, I need to know about it.”

“The Argents are mine to deal with. I won’t let them hurt anyone else.” The wolf promised. “My dad said he would help me. He won’t let your brother get hurt either.”

“If you need anything from me, just let me know.” Jax would offer Derek and Bobby anything he could if it meant keeping his brother safe.

“The Argents are still human. If you plan to kill them, hunters that associate with them will come looking for revenge.” Sam reasoned. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to get Sheriff Stilinski to look into your family’s murder and connect the dots? He could put the Argents in prison, instead of in a body bag.”

“Dad talked to Stilinski yesterday. He’s gonna do what he can.” Derek’s gaze flickered to Stiles. “That’s gonna put he and Stiles in danger.”

“Bikers, hunters, werewolves, sheriffs,” Jax ticked the professions off on his fingers. “None of it comes without risks. We all do what we gotta do to protect what’s ours and that comes with more risks.”

“I understand that, I do. Dean is the only family I have left and if there was anything I could do to save him, I would do it in a heartbeat.” Sam proclaimed sharply. “I love Bobby too and I don’t want to see him get hurt or worse in some kind of hunter war.”

“I’m not gonna let that happen.” Derek vowed harshly. “The Argents killed my family. They are not killing my dad too.”

“You’re damn right about that, but I don’t need you to protect me, son.” Bobby remarked as he lumbered into the room.

“Everything okay, Bobby?” Jax asked, noting that his mother and Piney had not exited the kitchen with him.

“Dean called,” Bobby held up his cellphone. “He’s got the rabbit’s foot. He’s on his way back.”

“Thank fuck!” Jax fist pumped the air, relishing in the fact that his curse would be lifted soon. His bad luck must have been contagious, because when he brought his arm back down he nailed his brother right in the eye with his elbow.

“Ow!” Stiles cried out and jolted upright, head butting Jax in the process, his hard head slamming into Jax's nose. “What the fuck?”

“Fuck.” Jax gripped his bleeding nostrils. “Fuck that hurt.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Stiles moaned, covering his injured eye with his hands. “Why am I on the receiving end of your bad luck?”

“’Cause it hurts me to see you in pain.” Jax confessed.

“That’s not funny, Jackson.” His baby brother whimpered.

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” It was the god’s honest truth. “Dean can’t get here fast enough. I’m supposed to ride to Jury’s tomorrow. I can’t do that with my luck in the shitter.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve got your priorities in order, Jackson.” 


	4. Sin City's Giving Back Magic Bullets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Violence, homophobic language.  
> Gif sets: [Kate Argent](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/148930869889/charming-wayward-sons-verse-kate-argent-rising), [Thanks, Mom](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/148923548211/charming-wayward-sons-verse-thanks-mom-its).  
> Episodes: [SOA] 1x05 Giving Back, [SPN] 3x04 Sin City, [TW] 1x04 Magic Bullet.  
> Again, there is actual dialogue from all shows in the chapter.  
> **I updated the [Verse info page](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/charmingwaywardsons) with some character portrayal warnings. I advise you to read them before continuing on with this verse, and there is also a little more available on Scott's characterization in particular you can find [here](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/149201833704/what-stuff-are-you-talking-about-that-the-mccalls).

Spending the morning cleaning guns in the ruins of the Hale house was not how Dean had intended to start his day. He would have preferred to be in Charming, tucked away in bed with the longline of Jax’s body pressed to his side. However, he would have settled for performing gun maintenance in a slightly different setting.

“Why aren’t we doing this at the motel?” He looked over his shoulder to ask Bobby. “Why here?”

“I’m hoping Derek comes back here.” The older hunter grumbled as he continued inspecting the Colt. “Once he’s finished searching for the alpha.”

“You let him go looking for the rogue alpha alone?” Sam glanced up from his laptop with poorly concealed shock written on his face.

“I did not _let_ him do anything,” Bobby corrected hotly. “He snuck out of the motel last night while I was sleeping. He left a note saying he was going to look for the alpha. And since he didn’t come back to the motel this morning, I’m counting on him coming here.”

“Coming home.” Sam acknowledged thoughtfully.

“You find anything on that?” Bobby motioned to the laptop, swiftly changing the subject.

“Might’ve found some demonic omens in Ohio.” Sam gazed back down at the screen. “Dry lightening, barometric pressure drop.”

“That’s thrilling.” Dean drawled, unimpressed by the find.

“Plus, a guy blew his head off in a church.” Sam added. “And another went postal in a hobby shop, before the cops took him out. Might be demonic omens.”

“Or it could be a suicide and a psycho scrapbooker.” Dean theorized sardonically.

“It’s the best lead we’ve had since Lincoln.” Sam pointed out.

“Where in Ohio?” Dean asked with a sigh, resigning himself to checking it out.

“Elizabethville,” His little brother read off the screen. “It’s a half-dead factory town in the rust belt.”

“There’s gotta be a demon or two in South Beach.” Dean did not want to spend his last year alive in the damn rust belt.

“Sorry, Hef, maybe next time.” Sam joked. “But, um, I think I’m finally getting somewhere with this demon deal research. Stiles and I were going to meet up at the library when he’s done with school today, so he can help me out. Maybe Bobby can go with you—“

“I’m not going anywhere, not with Derek AWOL.” Bobby snapped curtly. “You can go with Dean and I will do the demon deal research, and try to get the Colt in working order.”

“How’s that coming?” Sam questioned, eyeing the weapon in the elder hunters hands.

“Slow.”

“Man, I tell you, it’s a little sad seeing the Colt like that.” Dean pursed his lips at the dismantled gun.

“The only thing it’s good for is figuring out what makes it tick.” Bobby murmured as he tinkered with the weapon.

“So if I was gonna go check on the omens in Ohio— don’t worry, I’ll find my own backup so you both can stay here,” In fact, he already had someone in mind. “Think you can have the Colt ready by this afternoon?”

“Well, it won’t kill demons by then, but,” Bobby aimed the gun in Dean’s direction. “I can promise it’ll kill you.”

“All right. All right.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m wasting daylight. I’m gonna head to Charming and pick up my new hunting partner. Call me if something happens with Derek or the alpha, or if Derek doesn’t show up by tonight. I’ll come right back.”

“Sam and I can handle anything that comes up with Derek or the alpha.” Bobby brushed off any concern Dean might have. “Oh, and before you pick up Jax, you might want to get approval from his keeper.”

“I don’t need his mother’s permission to take him on a road trip.” Jax was a grown man for Christ’s sake.

“I wasn’t talking about Gemma.” Yeah, that’s what he was afraid of, Bobby referring to someone a few decades younger.

“I don’t need Stiles permission either.” He didn’t have to go through the little brother to get to the big one.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Sam clucked amusedly. “You’re the one who’s gonna end up with a bullet in the ass when Stiles finds out.”

“He’s not going to find out. No one is going to tell him.” Not that it would matter if someone did, it’s not like Dean was scared of Stiles or anything. “What Stiles doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“You mean, it won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, that to.” All right, maybe Dean was a little twitchy about Stiles temper when it came to Jax.

* * *

 

Jax was getting antsy sitting at the chapel table. It didn’t happen often, he usually felt more relaxed and at home at the table than anywhere else. Sometimes, though, he’d get that cooped up feeling and yearn to be anywhere but behind closed doors. He had thought he’d found his opening to bolt when the discussion about Otto’s friend Chucky and his connection to Henry Lin’s crew had come to end. Of course, he should have known that was wishful thinking.

“There’s one more thing,” Clay announced as they all prepared to leave. “April Hobart wants to know if her old man can come to the fundraiser, see his kid’s band play.”

“You gotta be kidding.” Jax shook his head at Hobart’s audacity to ask the club for anything.

“That’s done, brother.” Tig huffed. “That’s done.”

“No, I know. But, you know, April took a big hit staying behind. She supported the club.” Clay was speaking, but Jax would bet good money it was Gemma’s words coming out of his mouth. “It’s for her, not Kyle. I figured I’d throw it up for a vote.”

“Let him come.” Opie said suddenly.

“Are you serious?” Jax couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“This can’t be about getting even,” Clay warned the younger Winston at the end of the table. “Not at the school.”

“It’s not about that.” Opie insisted. “The guy’s got nothing, right? No club, no family. It’ll do me good to see that, help me appreciate what I got.”

“Anybody opposed?” Clay put it up for a vote, as promised.

“Yeah, me.” Tig raised a hand.

“I don’t agree with it.” Piney growled, and nobody expected anything less from the old man.

“Oh, this is wrong, man.” Tig commented as no one but he and Piney voiced their opposition to the idea.

“Majority rule. Vote passes. Let him come.” Clay brought the gavel down to put an end to the vote. “Hey, you all better be at that fundraiser, unless you want a size nine high-heel boot up your ass.”

“You coming?” Bobby Elvis asked as everyone began rising from the table.

“I’d rather have my balls cut off.” Clay chortled and signaled for Jax to stay behind. “You watch Kyle at that fundraiser this weekend. I don’t want anything going down at Gemma’s gig. Keep him away from Opie.”

“All right.” He wasn’t gonna let Kyle anywhere near Opie if he could help it.

“I’m not sure if Piney’s going to this thing or not, but if he does, is your little buddy gonna be available to keep him in line?”

“Stiles said he would try to make it. If he does, and Piney ends up at the fundraiser, then Stiles will keep him in line.” Jax’s little brother and Piney pretty much existed on the same wavelength, they always seemed to be able to talk each other off a ledge. “And Donna will keep Stiles in line.”

“All right. Good.”

He and his Pres walked out of the chapel together but separated from there, Clay going to the bar, and Jax making his way out the clubhouse doors. The warm sun and fresh air felt like heaven compared to the stuffiness of the chapel. And, well, finding Dean leaning against the Impala in the parking lot was a very nice bonus as well.

“What are you doing here?” Jax grinned as he strolled over to the other man. “I thought you were in research mode today.”

“I was, but something came up.” Dean licked his lips invitingly as Jax pinned himself to his side. “I have a very important question for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Okay,” Dean settled his hands on Jax’s shoulders and gazed at him imploringly. “Run away with me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He captured Dean’s lips in a quick kiss that ended just as quickly as it started. “Where are we going?”

“Ohio. There’s signs of demonic activity.” Dean informed him as he let his hands linger on Jax’s body. “Can you pull yourself away from your club duties?”

“Absolutely.” There was nothing pressing to attend to. “I gotta be back in time for Gemma’s fundraiser this weekend, or she’ll have both our asses.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” Dean’s eyes found the TM office where the older woman was working. “Go tell your mama we’re leaving and then we’ll go get your bag from the house.”

“All right.”

* * *

 

All Stiles wanted was a nice normal day at school. He thought he’d had it to, he made it through his classes without any fireworks or supernatural crises. It was just his luck that something would rear its ugly head before he left school grounds, that something coming in the form of Derek Hale collapsing in front of his Jeep as he was trying to maneuver it out of the school parking lot.

“Oh my god!” He screeched and slammed on the brakes, just short of hitting the wolf. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. This guy’s everywhere.”

“What the hell?” Scott bellowed as he rushed past the Jeep to Derek. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles ignored the blaring car horns behind him as he hopped out of the Jeep. He joined Scott at Derek’s side, hoping that together they could get the wolf up and out of there before he caused an even bigger scene.

“He’s not looking so good, dude.” Stiles couldn’t help but note the wolf’s sickly pale appearance.

“I was shot.” Derek eyes blinked rapidly as he struggled to stay conscious.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Scott’s panic leaked into his tone.

“I can’t.” Derek admitted breathlessly. “It was a different kind of bullet.”

“A silver bullet?” Stiles had it on good authority that silver bullets were what the Winchesters used to put down werewolves.

“No, you idiot.” Derek scoffed indignantly. “I’m not one of those mutts your friends hunt. They’re barely wolves at all.”

“Well, excuse my ignorance.” Stiles spluttered. It wasn’t his fault he was new to the whole werewolves thing. “I didn’t mean to offend your precious werewolf sensibilities by lumping you with a lower class of supernatural creature.”

“Wait,” Scott interjected before Derek could retort. “That’s what she meant when she said you had forty-eight hours.”

“What?” The other wolf furrowed his brows in confusion. “Who said forty-eight hours?”

“The one who shot you.” Scott said dumbly, just as Derek’s eyes flashed blue and he let out a loud groan of pain. “What are you doing? Stop that.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Derek hissed. “I can’t.”

“Derek, get up.” Scott ordered, only to receive another flicker of blue from the wolf’s eyes in response. “Stiles, help me put him in your car.”

Scott grasped Derek around his pits and hoisted him up to his feet. Stiles climbed back into the driver’s seat as his friend more or less dumped the wolf into the passenger side and shut the door.

“I need you to find out what kind of bullet they used.” Derek spoke to Scott through the open window.

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Scott asked skeptically.

“She’s an Argent. She’s with them.” Derek made a subtle gesture to Allison’s car.

“Why should I help you?” Scott’s petulant attitude was on full display with the question.

“Because you need me.” Derek declared firmly.

“Fine, I’ll try.” Scott conceded and looked around Derek to Stiles. “Hey, get him out of here.”

“I hate you for this, so much.” Hate or not, Stiles was as obedient as ever and drove off without another word.

He texted Scott once they were a few blocks away from the school, getting nothing in return. That was around the same time Derek decided to shuck off his jacket and examine his bullet wound, letting his blood drip freely onto the seats.

“Not this shit again.” He smacked a palm against the steering wheel, wondering why he always got stuck with shit duty. “Why is it always me?”

“Again?” Derek raised an inquiring brow. “How many people have died in your car?”

“No one’s ever died in here.” Stiles had been lucky enough to get those he had been transporting to the hospital or clinic just in time. “Just a few bleeders, you know, the mortally wounded.”

“That’s reassuring.” Derek murmured under his breath.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood out of the upholstery?” He cast a pointed glance to the blood pooling beside the wolf on his seats. “I hope you know that I’m sending you the bill.”

“You do that.”

“You think I’m joking?” Stiles did not joke when it came to Roscoe. “Which motel are you and Bobby staying at?”

“Why?”

“I need to know where I’m dropping you off.” He didn’t plan to drive in circles all day. “Bobby might have a stash of wolfsbane for you to use, to heal yourself or whatnot.”

“No.” Derek shook his head. “My dad doesn’t find out about this.”

“What? Why?”

“He’d only worry, and he’s doing enough of that already with whatever is going on with your friend Dean.” Derek lolled his head back lethargically. “I overheard him talking to Sam about it, something about a demon deal.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” There were enough people getting nowhere on that particular front, they didn’t need to add Derek to the mix. “Worry about not bleeding out on my seats, okay? We’re almost to the turn off to the preserve. You can bleed out there, in the comfort of your own home, or what’s left of it anyway.”

“My house?” Derek’s eyes widened in what Stiles might call fear if he wasn’t worried about the bodily injury he’d acquire saying it out loud. ”No, you can’t take me there.”

“I can’t take you to your own house?” Where the hell did the wolf expect Stiles to take him?

“Not when I can’t protect myself.”

“Okay. You know what,” Stiles quickly pulled the car off to the side of the road and turned off the engine, determined to get to the bottom of the clusterfuck he’d found himself in. “What happens if Scott doesn’t find your little magic bullet? Hmm? Are you dying?”

“Not yet. I have a last resort.” Oh boy, that sounded ominous.

“What do you mean? What last resort?” Stiles was about 110% sure he did not want to know, but he felt compelled to ask anyway.

Derek’s only response was to roll up his shirtsleeve and reveal the wound. There was blood seeping sluggishly from where the bullet had entered, and the wolf’s vein had turned black, stretching all the way down his arm.

“Oh my god. What is that?” Stiles cringed, forcing himself to look away before he puked. “Oh, is that contagious? You know what, you should probably just get out.”

“Start the car.” Derek demanded with a harsh glare. “Now.”

“I don’t think you should be barking orders with the way you look.” The wolf was in no position or condition to be demanding anything. “In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out in the middle of the road and leave you for dead.”

“Start the car,” The wolf snarled, but restrained from baring his teeth or claws when issuing the threat. “Or I’m gonna rip your throat out with my teeth.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” Stiles didn’t buy that for a second, but he started the car anyway. “Douche-wolf.”

“I _can_ rip out your throat.” Derek bragged peevishly, as if Stiles had offended him somehow.

“You can try.” They both knew he wouldn’t though.

* * *

 

It was Dean’s idea for Jax to take the lead during the interviews. He wanted to expand Jax’s hunting abilities beyond exorcisms and killing monsters. The first interview just happened to be with a priest, who had witnessed a parishioner’s suicide in his church, and Jax and Dean were posing as insurance agents.

“When did, uh, Andy, stop coming to church?” Jax asked as he superstitiously straightened the tie Dean had made him wear and tried to appear less uncomfortable in his surroundings.

“Oh, probably about two months ago.” Father Gil relayed to them. “Right around the time everything started to change.”

“Change how?”

“This used to be a town you could be proud of. People cared about each other.” The priest acknowledged woefully. “Andy sang in the choir. One day, he just wasn’t Andy anymore. It was like he was….”

“Possessed?” Jax offered, glancing at Dean out of the corner of is eye to see whether or not that was the correct word choice, not that Dean was any help, he was too busy jotting down notes.

“You could say that.” Father Gil nodded. “He gambled away his money, cheated on his wife, destroyed his business. Yes. It was like a switch had flipped.”

“Did you know the guy who killed those people in the hobby shop?” Jax questioned, wondering if the church could be the common denominator. “Was he one of your parishioners?”

“Sure, Tony Perkins.” The priest told him. “Good man.”

“Good man? The dude shot up a hobby shop.” Jax remarked incredulously.

“ _Jackson.”_ Dean stomped on his foot to accentuate the admonishment, and proceeded to take over the interview. “Tony Perkins, did his personality change one day too, Father?”

“I never thought about it that way, but, yes, about the same time as Andy.” Father Gil confirmed. “About two months ago.”

“Well, thank you, Father.” Dean flashed the priest a grateful smile. “We appreciate your time.”

Jax and Dean bid the priest goodbye and took their leave. They were in the Impala and on their way to find a motel before either of them spoke again.

“Both guys changed two months ago.” It was pretty significant timing in Jax’s opinion, but, then again, he wasn’t the expert here. “Anything happen two months ago?”

“The Devil’s Gate opened.” Dean sighed, guilt clouding over his features. “The Devil’s Gate opened and this place turns into Margaritaville.”

“Coincidence?”

“Not a chance.” The hunter drummed his fingers over the steering wheel. “Let’s check into a motel, go over the information we have, and decide where to go from there.”

“Yeah, okay.”

It didn’t take them long to find a suitable place to crash for the night. There weren’t many places to choose from in a small town. Jax didn’t bat an eyelash when Dean paid for a double bed instead of a single, choosing to believe it was out of habit more than anything else.

“Mirrored ceilings,” Jax whistled as they stepped into the room. “And your favorite, magic fingers.”

“How would you feel about having a mirrored ceiling and magic fingers in your bedroom?” Dean wagged his eyebrows.

“I’d feel like I was living in a cheap motel.” It wasn’t really Jax’s idea of a home.

“Killjoy.” Dean remarked jokingly as he began closing the door, only to stop short when something, or rather someone caught his eye. “Richie. I don’t believe it.”

“Hey,” A short curly-haired man in a tracksuit grinned brightly. “Dean Winchester, right?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s own smile morphed into a puzzled frown as a scantly cad woman sidled out of Richie’s room.

“Oh, um, this is my sister, uh, Cheryl.” Richie laughed nervously as he pushed some cash into Cheryl’s hand and she quickly disappeared down the hall. “Well, you know, stepsister.”

“Right. Well, come on in.” Dean invited his friend into their room. “This is Jax.”

“Hey,” Richie clapped him on the arm good-naturedly and made himself right at home. “How you doing?”

“Not bad.” Jax’s gaze flickered between the stranger and Dean. “How do you two know each other?”

“It was a succubus in Canarsie, right?” Richie glanced briefly at Dean for confirmation. “Oh man, you should have seen the rack on this broad. Frigging tragedy when I had to gank her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait.” Dean held up a hand to stop the other hunter. “Who killed her? If I remember correctly, your ass was toast until I showed up.”

“Oh, I forgot what a comedian this guy was.” Richie jerked a thumb toward Dean.

“Richie, I told you then, I’ll tell you again,” Dean caught the hunter’s eye. “You’re not cut out for this job. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“Words hurt, Winchester.” Richie complained as he dropped onto the sofa at the far end of the room.

“You got a clue about what’s going on in this town?” Jax figured since the guy had been in Elizabethville longer than they had, that he would have found something by now.

“Like demons and whatnot? Yeah, no, I got nothing.”

“Typical.” Dean critiqued Richie’s apparent lack of hunting abilities. “And what about your sister out there?”

“Oh, honestly? She definitely had the devil inside her, but she wasn’t no demon. You know what I’m saying?” Richie cackled and seemed disappointed when they didn’t join in. “Right. Seriously, church guy, hobby shop guy, they were lunch meat by the time I got there. Maybe they were possessed, but I can’t prove it.”

“So you’re exactly where we are, nowhere.” Dean griped.

“If it is a demon,” And Jax was just following Dean’s lead on that one. “Why would it blow its brains out?”

“For fun?” Richie posed a theory. “You know, he wrecks one body, moves to another. Kinda like taking a stolen car for a joy ride.”

“Anybody left in town that fits the profile?” Jax asked, wondering if it could be that easy to find the next target.

“Nice guy turned douche,” Dean simplified the profile of the demon they were looking for. “Still breathing.”

“There’s Trotter.” Richie reported. “He used to be head of the rotary club. People say he turned bastard all of a sudden. He brought in the gambling, the hookers. He practically owns this town.”

“Where can we find him?” Trotter was a good a place to start as any.

“Oh, he’ll be at his bar in a few hours.”

“Okay, well, we’ll meet you there in a few hours.” Dean told Richie as he slipped a few coins into the magic fingers slot. “Take a hike. Jax and I got a date with magic fingers and the mirrored ceiling.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Richie sent a knowing wink Jax’s way. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

* * *

 

Bobby had become accustomed to worrying about Derek’s wellbeing over the years. It started the day he was born and only increased during their separation. After the fire, he had woken up more often than in not in a cold sweat with horrific visions still playing behind his lids. He thought the night terrors would dissipate now that they were together again, but he had been wrong.

His fear for his son’s life was amplified when they were so close together, yet Derek was still so far out of reach. Bobby understood it on some level, Derek had grown used to doing things on his own, he thought he didn’t need his father anymore. When his son returned from his search for the alpha, Bobby was gonna make damn sure the kid knew he wouldn’t tolerate that. They were going to work together against the alpha and the Argents. There would be no more cowboy shit.

“Boy’s just stubborn, like his mama.” Bobby murmured to himself as he tinkered with the Colt.

He had been messing around with the gun all day and had yet to figure out what had made it go from a demon killing weapon to nothing more than a run of the mill revolver. He had taken it apart and put it back together twice, and found nothing out of the ordinary. So after the boys had left, Dean off on his hunt and Sam to the library, he decided to work out some frustrations by test firing the Colt on a makeshift target made out of a sack of dirt.

The distinct sound of boots crushing sticks and leaves alerted him to a presence behind him, well, three presences, actually. The au-natural scent wafting off them that even Bobby could smell with his puny human nose was enough to give him an idea of who was trespassing on the Hale property. Only certain kinds of hunters tried to use their B.O. to blend in with their surroundings and mask themselves from werewolves and other supernatural creatures.

“Bobby Singer.” There was only one woman whose voice was as grating as it was husky.

“Kate Argent.” He shifted on his feet until he was facing her and the two scrawny sorry excuses for hunter wannabes she’d brought along with her. “Returning to the scene of the crime?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her attempt to appear sweet and innocent only made her look more like the devil incarnate.

“Of course you don’t.” He wouldn’t expect an Argent to speak the truth about anything.

“So Laura Hale gets cut in half. Derek Hale comes home.” She puckered her lips around his son’s name, making it roll off her tongue like a moan. “And you come running. You always had a hard-on for the Hales.”

“I could say the same thing about you.” His fixation on the wolves came from a place of love and respect, unlike hers, which was born of bloodthirsty murderous intent.

“You usually have a Winchester or two nipping at your heels.” Kate chuckled darkly. “I thought I saw their signature Impala in a motel parking lot last night when I came through town. I bet those two boys grew up nice.”

“You stay away from my boys.” Bobby leveled the Colt to her chest. “ _All_ of my boys.”

“Oh, come on.” She smirked at the gun. “We both know you’re not going to shoot me, Bobby.”

He pulled the trigger without hesitation and didn’t think too much about why. Perhaps it was payback for what she had done to the Hales, or maybe he just wanted to prove her wrong. Either way, he enjoyed the way she yelped and stumbled back when the bullet pierced the skin of her side.

“Huh. Accuracy must be off.” He surmised offhandedly as he gazed down at the gun. “I’ll have to fix that.”

“You son of a bitch!” One of Kate’s male counterparts shouted and raised his shotgun.

Bobby was not the least bit perturbed by the posturing, he could tell the guy didn’t have the stones to cock the gun, let alone fire it. The other man with the group wouldn’t either, he was too busy putting pressure on Kate’s flesh wound. Kate, on the other hand, grabbed for her gun, wincing through the pain as she struggled to aim it.

The echo of police sirens startled the group of hunters as a black SUV with a _‘Beacon County Sheriff Department’_ decal on the side came barreling down the road. The vehicle skidded to a stop just a few feet from them.

“Everything okay here?” Sheriff Stilinski inquired as he climbed out of the SUV.

“Does it look okay?” Kate sneered viciously. “I’ve been shot.”

“I can see that.” Stilinski appeared completely unconcerned by the woman’s plight as he turned to address Bobby. “You wanna tell me what happened, Mr. Singer?”

“The property owner is a family friend. He gave me permission to do some target practice out here.” Bobby formulated a story off the top of his head that the sheriff could put on paper, one that wouldn’t land him in a jail cell. “It was quiet until these folks snuck up on me. I saw the weapons they were brandishing and got spooked. My gun just went off.”

“Accidental discharge?”

“Yes sir.” Bobby nodded in agreement. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Stilinski smiled cordially and returned his attention to the Argent hunters. “I assume you folks have permits for those weapons?”

“Yes.” Kate replied curtly. “Guns are my family’s business.”

“Uh huh.” The good sheriff barely resisted rolling his eyes. “What are you doing with them out in these woods?”

“Hunting.”

“Wrong answer.” Stilinski pointedly placed a hand on his gun holster. “Hunting is illegal in this preserve. You see, we have endangered animals that live in these woods. And we get a lot of hikers, teachers bring their students for field trips, the teenagers have a couple make-out spots. So we don’t allow guns out here. It’s too dangerous. Someone could get hurt, like you did.”

“He has a gun.” She waved a hand toward Bobby.

“He’s on private property, owned by the Hale family. The rules are a little different.” Stilinski explained. “Now, if you were out here hunting, I’m gonna have to arrest you, confiscate your weapons, and check those permits you say you have. If it all checks out, the least you’ll get off with is a hefty fine. I’ll also have to put a call in to Mr. Hale, to see if he wants to press charges for trespassing. This is his property after all. And—“

“Jesus Christ.” Kate stomped her foot like a child. “Can’t you see I’ve been shot? I don’t have time for this crap. Aren’t you going to charge him for shooting me?”

“Do you dispute his claim of an accidental discharge?” The sheriff tilted his head to the side curiously. “Keep in mind, miss, that we installed security cameras on this property a few years back at the Hales request. We were having some trouble with vandalism. So all I have to do to find out what really happened is review the footage.”

“I’m not going to dispute his _claim_.” The woman snapped. “Are we free to go, Deputy?”

“ _Sheriff_.” Stilinski corrected. “And, no, you are not free to go. There is still the issue of you hunting in a wildlife preserve. We take that kind of thing real serious around here. We don’t appreciate outsiders coming in and killing on our protected lands.”

“We haven’t killed anything yet.” Kate said irritably. “We were planning to, but now that we know it’s illegal, we won’t.”

“See that you don’t.” The sheriff advised sternly. “Since you haven’t actually broken any laws yet, aside from the trespassing, I suppose I can let you off with a warning. But, let me be very clear about something, I don’t want you in these woods again. I find you out here, armed and looking for trouble, I’ll take you in and you’ll be facing serious charges. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir.” Kate ground out like the words were being forced from her throat. “Are we free to go now, _Sheriff?_ I need medical attention.”

“It’s a superficial wound. You’ll only need a few stitches.” Stilinski commented as he glanced momentarily at her injury. “But, yes, you can go. Enjoy what I’m sure will be a very short stay in Beacon Hills.”

Kate and her lackeys left the same way they came, through an unmarked path in the forest. Bobby waited until they were well out of sight before fixing the sheriff with a perplexed look.

“ _’We take that kind of thing real serious around here. We don’t appreciate outsiders coming in….'"_ It took all Bobby had not to double over in laughter. “You sounded like the sheriff from every movie set in a small town.”

“Yeah, I picked that up one summer shadowing my Uncle Pride’s department in Georgia.” John revealed casually. “It usually works when the laidback yet still stern sheriff thing that I learned from my dad doesn’t.”

“Huh.” It was good to know the sheriff had different personas in his repertiore to fall back on. “What you said about the security cameras, was that true?”

“Of course not. This county doesn’t have money in its budget to put up security cameras in the middle of nowhere.” Stilinski scoffed. “But the Argents don’t know that.”

“That’s true.” It was a believable enough lie to get Kate to buy it. “You have some kind of lojack on the Argents or something? You showed up right after they did.”

“Oh, I just have good timing, I guess.” Stilinski sighed. “I came out here to check in with you, you weren’t at the motel. I wanted to ask you a question, father-to-father.”

“Okay.”

“Your son is a werewolf, he’s in this fight simply because he was born a little different, and that’s not fair. My son’s best friend was just turned, and I won’t delude myself into thinking Stiles will stay out of all this werewolf crap, just because I ask him to.” Keeping Stiles out of anything was a bit like pulling the teeth out of a hyperactive velociraptor. “I just need to know how this is gonna go down, so I know how to protect my son and this town.”

“Honestly, Sheriff, I’m not sure.” There were many factors involved. “If it was only the Argents in play, I might have an idea, but we’ve got that rogue alpha too.”

“And your focus has been split, given everything going on with Dean and his demon deal.” Stilinski noted grimly. “Stiles told me. He promised not to tell Jax, but he had to tell someone.”

“Yeah, there’s Dean’s deal too.” Each day that past was another day closer to that deal coming due. “That’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“My son cares about Dean, so it is something I’ll worry about. It’s just not something I have the skills to fix.” He remarked bitterly. “The Argents, on the other hand, I may be able to get some of them off the playing field.”

“How?” It wouldn’t surprise Bobby if one or more of them had outstanding warrants in other states, if that was what Sheriff Stilinski was implying.

“Laura Hale came home for the first time since her family had been killed in a fire, only to be killed herself, not far from the home her family died in. Derek Hale returns to claim his sister’s body, and is repeatedly accosted by armed men in the woods outside his family home.” Stilinski recapped recent events. “It’s almost as if someone has a serious grudge against the Hale family, and it makes me wonder if the Hale house fire was really started by faulty wiring.”

“You’re reopening the case.” They both knew it wasn’t an accident, the fire was always arson, they just couldn’t prove it.

“My gut feeling back then could not trump the arson investigators report.” He could not very well keep a case open and active on the county’s dime with no evidence beyond a hunch. “Given the suspicious circumstances surrounding Laura’s death, and someone’s obvious fixation on the family, I’ve been given permission to reopen the case. There’s not going to be some big announcement. I’m gonna keep it quiet. I don’t want to spook anyone.”

“It’s safer to keep on the down-low.” There was less chance of the sheriff or Stiles becoming targets in the Argents crosshairs that way.

“When I find proof, then at least some of the Argents and their associates will finally be put away.” Stilinski predicted optimistically. “But if I don’t find anything, what will you do?”

“I won’t let them hurt my son.” He wouldn’t go into specifics, Stilinski needed deniability if it went down within his city limits. “As for the rogue alpha, it’s been killing people and turning others without their consent. It will be put down.”

“All right.” Stilinski nodded in understanding. “Under the circumstances, I would put a protection detail on Peter, at the facility he’s in, but I just don’t have the man power available to authorize that. I do have a few friends from the military who do private security now. I can give them a call, they owe me a favor or two.”

“No. No, I don’t think the Argents will go after Peter.” Talia’s little brother was no longer a worthwhile target. “He’s not a threat, they won’t see him as one.”

“Okay. So, we’ve got plans of attack for the Argents and the alpha,” A plan, no matter how farfetched, was better than winging it and hoping for the best. “You sure there’s nothing I can do to help with Dean’s deal?”

“I don’t think so.” Bobby wasn’t sure there was anything any of them could do. “Sam’s taking the lead on it. He’s at the library now, researching. That’s all we really can do.”

* * *

 

Being locked in a car with Derek for hours was not exactly what Stiles would call a good time. Couple that with the fact that the wolf was kind of dying and finding the cure to save him was in Scott’s hands, and Stiles was pretty much at his wits end. It didn’t help that it had taken his buddy _hours_ to pick up the phone.

“What am I supposed to do with Derek?” Stiles asked when he finally managed to get Scott to pull himself away from Allison and answer his call.

 _“Take him somewhere. Anywhere!”_ Scott suggested.

“He’s starting to smell.” Stiles scrunched up his nose at the wolf in the passenger seat. “Like death.”

 _“Take him to the animal clinic.”_ Scott chose to ignore Stiles observation of Derek’s condition in favor of trying to be helpful. _“Deaton’s gone by now. There’s a spare key in the box behind the dumpster.”_

“You’re not gonna believe where he’s telling me to take you.” Stiles pressed the speaker button on his cellphone before handing it to Derek.

“Did you find it?” Derek questioned Scott, his words beginning to slur from the effects of the poison.

 _“How am I supposed to find one bullet?”_ Scott only sounded mildly hysterical, which was a little surprising given the pressure he was under. _“They have a million! This house is like the freaking Walmart of guns!”_

“If you don’t find it, then I’m dead, all right?” Derek mumbled, a hint of desperation in his tone.

 _“I’m starting to think that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”_ Scott commented critically.

“Then think about this,” Derek started, voice hard with anger. “The alpha called you out against your will. He’s gonna do it again. Next time, you’ll either kill with him or get killed. So if you want to stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet.”

Derek swiped his thumb over the screen to end the call and dropped the device between them on the seat. Stiles snatched it up immediately, deciding he needed to take things into his own hands.

“What are you doing?” Derek growled lowly as Stiles scrolled through his contacts.

“You really want to bank your life on Scott of all people?” Stiles trusted his friend, he did, but he would never willingly put his life in Scott’s hands. “I’m gonna call Sam to help us out.”

“He’ll call my dad!” Derek made a pitiful grab for the phone.

“No, he won’t!” He batted the wolf’s hand away and brought the device to his ear. “Settle down, wolf-boy. I’ve got this.”

 _“Hello?”_ The younger Winchester’s voice filtered over the line.

“Dude, I need a huge favor.” Stiles said in lieu of _hello_.

 _“Dude,”_ Sam parroted. _“You were supposed to meet me at the library hours ago.”_

“I know. I know I was.” He had gotten a little sidetracked. “I’m gonna help you research, I promise. I just need your help first. And you cannot tell Bobby, no matter how much you want to. Okay?”

 _“Okay. I won’t say anything to Bobby.”_ Sam did not seem pleased with the request, but Stiles had no doubt that he would keep his mouth shut. _“Tell me what you need.”_

“I need you to break into the Argent house.” He was going to go out on a limb and say the Argents were not just going to allow Sam into their home if he tried knocking on the door. “And steal a wolfsbane bullet.”

_“Uh, why?”_

“Because Derek will die without it.” The wolf already looked like he was at death’s door. “I’ll text you their address. When you get the bullet, meet us at the animal clinic.”

_“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Sam assured him._

“Be careful.” The last thing Stiles wanted was for anyone else to get hurt. “And none of this gets back to Bobby until Derek is on the road to recovery.”

_“I got it, Stiles.”_

* * *

 

The visit to Trotter’s bar had been exciting, Jax supposed, in the context of a hunt at least. Seeing Father Gil there had been a bit of a shock. Watching Dean flirt with the bartender, Casey, was expected. Witnessing Dean tackle a guy who had just shot another bar patron, was kind of a turn-on, Jax would admit. Of course, that was also around the time that things got a little weird.

They had wrongly assumed the shooter was possessed, but there was no reaction whatsoever to the holy water. It turned out he was nothing more than a scorned husband out to kill the man who’d been banging his wife. Once the police had taken the man away, Dean had noticed his friend Richie had disappeared, along with the bartender. After regrouping over a short meal, Dean went on a search for his missing friend, while Jax decided to follow the Trotter lead.

He trailed Trotter and his bodyguard to an office building in the middle of town. He followed the pair in to see which office belonged to Trotter, and hunkered down in the hallway to wait for them to leave so he could begin his search. His phone, however, had other ideas when it rang loudly in the otherwise deathly quiet hall outside the office.

“Jesus. Fuck.” Jax flipped the phone open, if only to shut it up as quickly as possible. “Yeah?”

 _“Jax,”_ Dean’s calm and controlled voice greeted him. _“You okay?”_

“Yeah.” It was probably not the best time for him to chat, but he would take the risk for Dean. “You find Richie?”

 _“Yeah.”_ Dean murmured gravely, but offered nothing more on the subject. _“Where are you?”_

“Waiting for Trotter and his muscle to take off so I can have a look inside his office.” He wasn’t entirely sure what he would be looking for, he figured he’d know it when he saw it. “What about you? What are you doing?”

 _“I’m following my own lead to see where it takes me.”_ The hunter said, seeming distracted by something. _“Let’s meet up at the bar in twenty minutes to see where we are.”_

“Yeah. All right. See you in twenty.”

Jax pocketed his phone and returned to his original ‘hide and creep’ position. At the sound of footsteps coming near, he darted behind an old soda machine. It wasn’t the best hiding spot, it was a tight fit, but it was the best he could do on short notice. It did the job well enough, Trotter and his man passed him by without even a glance spared in his direction. It was only when he was certain they had exited the building, that he made his way to the office.

His search method was not as tidy as the Winchesters. He knocked books of the shelf haphazardly and flipped through papers on the desk without a care. He was ready to rifle through the file cabinet when he felt the cold press of metal against his skin.

“What are you doing here?” Trotter inquired, keeping the gun firmly on Jax’s neck.

“I’m sure you know the answer to that.” But if the guy wanted to plead ignorance, then Jax supposed that was his right. “I gotta tell you, though, I think playing stupid is a bad idea.”

“Yeah? Well, I think I’m calling the cops.” Trotter took a step back to pull out his phone, unintentionally moving the gun off Jax’s neck in the process.

“Cops?” Why the hell would a demon call the cops to settle a score? “Are you fucking kidding me? _You_ are gonna call the cops on _me_?”

“Breaking and entering, assault.” The man listed off Jax’s apparent crimes. “You’re in a peck of trouble, my friend.”

“Hey, I haven’t assaulted anybody.” Well, not yet anyway. “Look, I can explain what’s going on here.”

The first part of his explanation involved shoving his elbow back into Trotter’s nose. The second part was wrapping his fingers around the barrel of the gun and twisting it out of Trotter’s grip in a practiced move, before the bodyguard even had a chance to react.

“Back up.” Jax pointed the weapon at the men. “Now.”

“The money’s in the safe.” Trotter gestured to the large safe in the corner of the room. “Take it and go.”

“I don’t want your money. I just need to be sure you are what I think you are.” He reached into his back pocket and removed the flask of holy water that Dean had given him earlier. He splashed a generous amount on the men in front of him and waited patiently for fireworks that never came. “Um…”

“W-What? What kind of psycho are you?” Trotter spluttered indignantly.

“Oh shit. Um,” He flashed the men the same timid smile his little brother used to get out of trouble. “I think this was just a minor misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?”

“Yep. Yeah. I’m gonna give this back.” He emptied the bullets out of the revolver and set it on the desk. “That’s yours, you can keep that. I’m gonna take the bullets, so you can’t shoot me in the back on my way out. And I’m just gonna go. Uh, have a nice day?”

* * *

 

Breaking into the Argent house had not been on Sam’s to-do list for the day, but he was willing to make adjustments to his schedule if he could assist in saving a life. He supposed he should’ve been thankful that the family hadn’t had time to install a proper security system, it made slipping through a back window easier. All he really had to do was use his pocketknife to jimmy the latch.

The text Stiles had sent with the address also came with a search area suggestion, Kate’s things. Given how big the house was, Sam appreciated the starting point, it meant, with any luck, he would only have to find and root through one room, instead of all of them. It lowered the risk of being caught by the houses occupants.

For once in his life, it seemed like luck was on his side. The guest room was on the main floor just before the garage and down the hall from the dining room. Sam shuffled into the room quickly, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he could, so not to alert anyone to his presence.

From the looks of things, Kate hadn’t had time to unpack. She had simply shoved her suitcases under the bed and called it good. Sam yanked one out and unzipped it, finding a metal box sitting atop her folded clothing.

With good luck came bad, and Sam wasn’t really all that surprised when his search was interrupted. He always kept an ear out for danger, no matter where he was. He picked up the sound of a door opening the second the intruders hand touched the knob. He was pushing the guy up against the wall and covering his mouth with a hand the moment he stepped into the room.

“Quiet.” He hissed at the guy- the _kid_ , whose eyes had begun to glow gold in response. “Scott. You’re Scott, aren’t you? You’re Stiles friend?”

“Ugh!” The teenager gathered his supernatural strength and shoved Sam away easily. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?”

“I’m Sam Winchester.” From the lack of recognition on the wolf’s face, he would bet the kid had no idea who he was. “You didn’t get Stiles text, did you?”

“What text?” Scott pulled out his phone to check his recent message, face twisting in annoyance as he read them. “He sent you to get the bullet? I was going to find it! You didn’t have to break into Allison’s house!”

“Keep your voice down.” Sam warned, eyes flickering to the door as if they would be caught at any second. “You’ve been here all afternoon, you had more than enough time to look for the bullet.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy having dinner with your girlfriend's family instead of finding the bullet to save Derek.” Sam couldn’t care less that the kid was a teenager, it wasn’t a good enough excuse for his priorities to be so screwed. “When exactly were you planning to find it? Were you gonna wait until after dessert? Derek could be dead by then.”

“I can’t just traipse around their house, looking through their things.” The wolf argued. “I had to excuse myself for a bathroom break just to be here now.”

“Which you could have done at any time.” There was no reason for him to sit through the entire dinner while Derek was dying. “You excuse yourself to the bathroom, find the bullet, and tell them you have an emergency at home and you have to leave.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

“But it is.” Anyone with half a brain could get away with it if they could lie believably. “You’re off the hook now. I’ve got this.”

Sam turned his back on Scott and crouched down beside Kate’s suitcase once more. He opened the lid to the metal box and found it packed with bullets, all neatly arranged in long rows, surrounding a small wooden chest that had a leaf and wolfsbane plant stamped to the front. He flicked the lid of the chest open and was not surprised to see it held shot gun shells, there were ten slots in total, but only nine full, one slot was empty.

“Gotcha.”

* * *

 

When Dean had decided to trap Casey the bartender, after finding Richie’s body in her basement, he had not expected to be trapped with her. It wasn’t really his fault, he couldn’t have known she would counter his devil’s trap with a cave in at the basement entrance. However, he would take full responsibility for flubbing the exorcism after Casey had destroyed the book containing the Latin incantation.

He had tried uselessly to find a way out, before resigning himself to waiting for Jax to ride into the rescue, something he was sure he’d never live down. With nothing to do but cool his heels, he decided, against his better judgment, to chat Casey the demon up. Honestly, what the hell else were they going to do?

They traded barbs for a while, the usual demon-to-hunter back and forth of snarky banter. They had spoken briefly about what Casey had done to Trotter, planted an idea in his mind, it was nothing more than the power of suggestion and the prospect of money to be made. It was then that conversation shifted, that Dean began to ask the questions that got him closer to what he really wanted to know.

“Hey, what’s it like down there?” He made a not-so subtle gesture to the floor.

“What, hell?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, that’s right. You booked a one-way ticket with that deal.” She grinned like it was best news she’d heard all day. “You’re not gonna like it, Dean. Judging from all the trouble you’ve caused, I don’t think you’ll be getting the presidential suite. It’s a pit of despair. Why do you think we want to come here?”

He took a moment to let the information sink in. Hell was such an awful place that even the things that called it home, that were born in the deepest, darkest crevices of the pit, wanted to escape it. He knew all that, and yet, he still could not regret making the deal.

“Kind of funny, don’t you think?” She asked suddenly. “You and me, sitting here like a couple regular folk.”

“Yeah, it’s hilarious.” It was some sort of bad cosmic joke. “You know, in that apocalyptic sort of way.”

“You’re all right, Dean.” The demon praised. “The others don’t describe you that way, but, you know, you’re…likeable.”

“A demon likes me,” He chuckled to himself. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“You could say thanks.” She suggested blithely. “That deal you made to save Sam? A lot of others would mock you for it, think it was weak or stupid, but I don’t.”

“It’s been kind of liberating, actually.” He confessed bleakly. “What’s the point of worrying about a future when you don’t have one, huh?”

“Still, a year to live….” She cocked her head to the side. “You’re not scared?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Of course not.” He was not scared, he was absolutely terrified, but he was not about to admit that to her. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“I’m an open book.” She spread her arms, giving him the platform to speak.

“So the gate opened. The demon army was let out.” What happened next? “What now? I’m not seeing a big honking plan here.”

“There was a plan.” Her word choice was enough of an indicator of where that plan was, in the shitter. “Azazel was a tyrant, but he held us together.”

“Azazel?”

“What, you think his friends called him _Yellow Eyes_? He had a name.” Casey acknowledged. “After you did him in, it all fell apart.”

“Sorry about that.” He lied insolently. “So, what, no chain of command?”

“There was. It was Sam.” She revealed wryly. “Sam was supposed to be the Grand Pooh Bah, lead the big army. But he hasn’t exactly stepped up to the plate.”

“Thank God.” If Dean succeeded in anything, it was in preventing Sam from becoming what Azazel wanted him to be.

“Again with God? You think this is a good thing?” She shook her head. “Now you’ve got chaos, a war without a front. Hundreds of demons, all jockeying for the crown. Most of them are gunning for your brother.”

“They can’t have him.” Dean would never allow that.

“You’ll be dead in less than a year Dean, and then it won’t be your choice anymore.” Casey concluded somberly. “For the record, I was ready to follow Sam.”

* * *

 

By the time Stiles got Derek to the animal clinic, the wolf seemed to be on his last leg. His breathing was labored and was unable to walk on his own. He’d stripped out of his shirt once they made it into the building, either to find relief from the poison-induced fever, or to give himself easier access the wound on his arm.

“You know, that really doesn’t look like anything some Echinacea and a good night’s sleep couldn’t take care of.” Stiles scrutinized the wound from the opposite side of the examination table.

“When the infection reaches my heart, it’ll kill me.” Derek professed as he swayed on his feet.

“Positivity just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?” They were shit out of luck if Stiles was supposed to be the optimistic one.

“If one of them doesn’t get back with the bullet in time, then I have a last resort.” The wolf said as he began opening and closing cupboards and drawers around the exam room, obviously searching for something specific.

“Which is?”

“You’re going to cut off my arm.” Derek declared, pulling a surgical saw out of a drawer.

“Oh my god!” Stiles was forced to take the item that was pushed into his unwillingly hands. “What if you bleed to death?”

“It’ll heal if it works.” Derek claimed as he tied a tourniquet around his bicep.

“Look, I don’t know if I can do this.” Stiles was not confident in his abilities in this particular situation.

“Why not?”

“Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!” He’d never really considered himself squeamish until now.

“You faint at the side of blood?” Derek questioned dubiously.

“No, but I might at the sight of a chopped off arm!” There was a stark difference between a pool of blood and a missing appendage.

“All right, fine. How about this,” Derek grasped Stiles shirt collar and wrenched him down on the table, until their heads nearly knocked against each other. “Either you cut off my arm or I’m gonna cut off your head.”

“Okay, you know, I’m so not buying your threats anymore.” At this point, he doubted the wolf could cut the head off a gummy bear. “I’m telling you, man, this sawing off your arm thing is totally beyond my limits, okay?”

“And telling my dad you let me die is within your limits?” Derek snarled, and yeah, that was a good point.

“Chopping off your arm it is.” Stiles agreed to the task around the same time Derek went a little green around the gills. “What’s wrong—“

Derek released his grip on Stiles shirt and leaned off the side of the exam table to vomit, the thick black bile spilling across the tiled floor.

“Holy god!” Stiles couldn’t help but gag at the sight. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s my body,” Derek grunted hoarsely. “It’s trying to heal itself.”

“It’s not doing a very good job.” Black bile or whatever the hell it was could not be a good sign.

“Now, you gotta do it now.” Derek stretched his injured arm out over the table. “Do it.”

“Oh my god. Okay.” He tightened his grip on the saw. “All right, here we go!”

Stiles took a deep breath and pressed his finger to the power button on the tool, flinching as it roared to life in his hands. He did his best to remain as steady as possible as he brought the blade down precariously close to the wolf’s skin.

“Stiles? Derek?” A familiar voice called out from the back entrance of the clinic.

“Sam?” Stiles cast a hopeful gaze toward the hall, sagging with relief when the younger Winchester appeared.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam barked as he took in the scene in front of him. “Put that down, Stiles!”

“Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares.” He jerked the saw away from Derek’s flesh and flicked it off.

“Did you get it?” Derek lifted his head as far off the table as he could manage to eye Sam cautiously.

“Yeah. Here.” The hunter took the bullet from his pocket and handed it off to the wolf.

Derek inspected the bullet carefully, an uncertain expression on his face, as if he was unsure how to proceed from there. All of the sudden, the shotgun shell slipped from his grip and clattered to the floor, Derek’s unconscious body following quickly after.

“Derek!” Stiles was at his side in a second, smacking his face gently to rouse him. “Sam, get the bullet! I think it went in that floor drain!”

“No need. I have another one. I grabbed two, just in case.” Sam removed the second bullet from his pocket and settled on his knees next to Stiles.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” The wolf had said he needed the bullet, he never said how he would use it.

“I’ve been reading up on werewolf lore since we found out about him, and I read somewhere that if a wolf is shot with wolfsbane, then the same strain of wolfsbane can cure him.” Sam explained as he snagged a pair of pliers off the counter and began taking the shell casing apart. “I don’t know how to get it into his system, though. I don’t know if he has to ingest it or what. Try to wake him, so he can tell us.”

“I got it! Okay. Please don’t kill me for this!” In a last ditch effort to bring Derek back to the land of the living, Stiles bawled his hand into a fist and swung, hitting the wolf’s cheek, which felt more like solid metal than it did skin and bone. “Ow!”

“Uh,” Derek’s eyes shot open, as Stiles hoped they would. It took him a moment to focus, but once he did, he zeroed in on the bullet in Sam’s hand. “Give me that.”

Sam relinquished the shell without complaint, and Derek used his teeth to take it apart, dumping the contents on the floor beside him. He levered himself up enough to reach the lighter on the exam table, and brought the flame to the wolfsbane/gunpowder mixture. Once the spark had dissipated, he gathered the powder into his palm and dug it into his wound.

Stiles and Sam got the hell out of dodge when the wolf yowled in agony and began withering around on the floor. If there was ever a sign that the cure was working, it was when Derek roared loudly, eyes glowing a luminescent blue, and rested his body on the tile, ceasing all movements beyond the rise and fall of his chest.

“That was awesome!” Stiles whooped, fist pumping the air. “Yes!”

“What’s going on?” Scott asked as he jogged in from the hall.

“You’re late.” Sam snapped at the teenager, who finally decided to grace them with his presence. “I guess you stayed for dessert after all, huh?”

“Derek, are you okay?” Scott ignored Sam to focus on the other wolf in the room.

“Except for the agonizing pain?” Derek grumbled as he struggled to his feet.

“I’m guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health.” Stiles quipped, earning a glare from the wolf.

“Okay, we saved your life, which means you’re gonna leave us alone.” Scott said harshly, making Stiles wonder where the hell he’d gotten the ‘we’ from. “If you don’t, I’m gonna go back to Allison’s dad, and I’m gonna tell him everything.”

“No, you’re not.” Stiles wanted to smack his buddy for even thinking about it. “You mention werewolves to the Argents at all and it’ll be your head on the chopping block, right beside Derek’s.”

“But I haven’t done anything!” Scott argued childishly. “They have no reason to hurt me.”

“My family didn’t do anything to anyone either!” Derek growled at the teenager. “And the Argents still burned them alive.”

“Allison’s family wouldn’t do that—“

“You’ve known this girl for all of five minutes, Scotty.” Stiles remarked in a clipped tone. “How the hell would you know what her family is capable of?”

“I know they’re a lot freaking nicer than he is!” Scott thrust an accusing finger toward Derek. “We’ve only known him for five minutes, but you trust him.”

“I don’t trust him.” There were maybe six people in the entire world that Stiles trusted completely, and Derek sure as hell wasn’t one of them. “You think I trust him? I barely trust Sam, and I’ve known him practically my whole life.”

“Hey!” The younger Winchester squawked, taking offense to Stiles words.

“Trust or not, I knew Derek’s family. I know his father.” The Hales and Bobby Singer were close family friends. “I don’t know the Argents, but from what I’ve heard about them, they’re bad news.”

“You can’t believe everything you hear, Stiles.” Scott retorted sourly.

“How about I show you what they do?” Derek interjected. “You don’t want to believe what you hear about the Argents, then maybe you’ll believe what you see.”

“Where are you gonna take him?” Stiles asked as Derek pulled back on his shirt.

“Beacons Crossing Home.” Derek grabbed Scott by the arm and led him out of the room.

“What is that?” Sam questioned as he watched them go. “Beacons Crossing Home?”

“It’s a long term care facility.” Stiles murmured as he heard the back door slam shut. “I think it’s where Peter Hale is.”

“He was one of the ones who survived the fire, right? Bobby mentioned it.”

“He was the only survivor.” To the best of Stiles knowledge anyway. “He was in a coma and then catatonic these last six years. It doesn’t say much for survival.”

* * *

 

When Dean never showed up to meet him at the bar, Jax may have panicked a bit. He had done his best not to let it show when he questioned the bartender on shift. The guy had given him lip, but eventually admitted that Dean had left with the other bartender, Casey, and after a well placed threat, he had handed over Casey’s address.

The house had been a bust, in one respect, Dean and Casey were not there, however, there was sulfur on the shelves and windowsills. Now, Jax had a tendency to zone out when Dean droned on about supernatural crap, so he had to send off a quick text to Bobby to confirm that sulfur meant demonic presence. Once he was confident Casey was the demon he was looking for, he returned to the bar in hopes of finding another probable location.

The bartender proved useless during his second interrogation, he had given Jax all he had known the first time around. Jax had better luck with the priest he and Dean interviewed earlier, who, as it turned out, was close to Casey. The problem was, Father Gil refused to give Jax an address, insisted on showing him the way so he could see that Casey was all right with his own two eyes. It raised some red flags that Jax chose to ignore for the time being.

The Impala parked outside the second location gave Jax hope that they had finally found the right place. He jumped out of Father Gil’s car before it could come to a complete stop and jogged up the path to the front door.

“Dean!” He shouted, banging his fist against the door. “Padre, you check that way, and I’ll go this way.”

Working under the assumption that the priest to do as he was told, Jax went around the side of the large house to search for a way in.

“Dean!”

“Jax!” Dean yelled out his name. “Jax, down here! The basement caved in!”

Jax followed the sound of Dean’s voice to ground level window. He crouched down beside it, trying to get a clear look at the hunter, checking for visible injuries, but his view was obstructed by the thick bars covering the window panel.

“Dean, hey.” Jax reached out to pull on the bars, trying to find a loose one to wrench free. “Hold on, okay? We’re gonna get you out of there.”

“Who’s _we_?” Dean furrowed his brows.

“Father Gil wouldn’t let me come without him.”

“Father Gil….” Dean glanced over his shoulder to the woman behind him before turning his narrowed eyes back to Jax. “You didn’t think that was suspicious?”

“Of course I thought it was suspicious. I’m not a fucking idiot.” He was not under the illusion that the priest just wanted to check on a member of his flock. “I had to find you, so I had to bring him along.”

“You could have tracked my phones location!” Dean pointed out, as if that were the most obvious solution to finding a missing person. “It’s what I did with Richie.”

“I don’t know how to do that!” He wasn’t the tech guy, he left that shit to Juice. “And don’t bitch at me for taking a ride with a demon when you’ve been stuck in this basement with one for I don’t know how long, and you haven’t exorcised her!”

“I tried!” Dean whined petulantly. “She destroyed my exorcism book when she caused the cave in.”

“You’re telling me that you don’t know the exorcism by heart?” Jax was under the impression that demonic exorcisms were like a hunter pre-requisite or something. “Is Bobby gonna revoke your fake FBI badge for that? Take away your holy water and rock salt?”

“Oh, shut up.” The hunter smacked a hand against the bar in irritation. “I’ve only been dealing with demons for like two years.”

“That’s more than enough time to memorize an exorcism.” Seriously, before Dean left with Sam to who knows where, Jax was gonna make him memorize it.

“Jackson,” Dean scowled at him. “Shut up.”

“Make me.” He challenged, licking his lips. “Not much you can do trapped in a basement.”

“You two bicker like an old married couple.” Casey chimed in before Dean could come up with a worthwhile retort. “It’s a shame Dean won’t live long enough to be old at all.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jax questioned, he did not like the certainty in her voice.

“It means I’m a hunter and we tend to die young.” Dean reasoned, shooting a sharp glare to the woman. “She’s a demon, they like to talk shit.”

“Demon, right.” Jax would take care of that right the fuck now. _“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satan—“_

Jax’s attempt at the exorcism was interrupted when he was flung across the lawn by an unseen force. He groaned as he lifted his head off the ground and spotted Father Gil on the other side of the yard. The priest was no longer trying to hide what his was, his eyes were coated black to show the nothingness of his soul.

For a moment, Jax was sure the demon would snap his fingers and with them Jax’s neck, but instead, he turned on his heels and set off in the other direction. Jax scrambled to his feet when he realized the priest was going to find a way into the house, a way to Dean. Determined not to let that happen, he sprinted across the lawn and tackled the son of a bitch to the ground.

He did not give the demon an opening to use his power, or to flip on to his back and gain the upper hand. Jax put his full weight on the man’s upper body, straddling him awkwardly and pinning him down with a knee to the back of his neck.

 _“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis congregation et secta diabolica!”_ Jax began the exorcism with the demon tried to buck him off like an angered bull. _“Ergo, draco maledicte! Eccelesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!”_

Jax was knocked back to the grass as black smoke was expelled from the demon’s mouth, leaving its vessel twitching and moaning. Jax couldn’t be bothered to worry about the demon’s meat suit, he had other people on his mind.

“Dean,” He scurried back to the basement window, and found the hunter staring at Casey’s now lifeless body. “Dean, what happened?”

“Your voice carries.” The hunter commented dully. “Two-for-one exorcism.”

“Nice.” He would pat himself on the back later, right now he still had one minor problem. “Now we just have to get you the hell out of there.”

“We have to get me out of here and get the fuck back on the road if we want to make it to Charming in time for that fundraiser.” Dean went over their current objectives before his face twisted in bewilderment. “Hey, did you just pull that exorcism off the top of your head?”

“Yeah.” Unlike Dean, Jax had taken the time to learn it. “I memorized it after I found out about all this supernatural crap.”

“Huh.” Dean nodded approvingly. “Well, good job. Now find me a way out of here.”

“You’re so demanding.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

* * *

 

The afternoon of the fundraiser, Stiles once again found himself playing taxi. This time, it was a Winchester he was chauffeuring to Charming, rather than a Hale.

“What happened to your dad’s truck?” He asked conversationally as he turned the Jeep into the middle school parking lot.

“Uh, it’s parked in a shed at Bobby’s place.” Sam grudgingly replied, obviously not comfortable with questions about his father, if the way his jaw twitched was anything to go by. “Why?”

“I was thinking it would be a good idea if you and Dean had a backup car on hunts or something.” It would save them from having to steal another vehicle if they needed to work separately on a case. “Just a thought, you know.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re tired of playing taxi driver?”

“Of course not.” It had been one of his duties since he had gotten his license. “I love to driv...— “

Stiles trailed off as he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd of people on the school premises. Kyle Hobart was smiling, happy as could be, playing with his daughter. It was not an image Stiles ever wanted to see in Charming, or anywhere else for that matter.

“Son of a bitch.” He tightened his already white knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“Uh, if you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna do, can you let me out first? I don’t want to spend the rest of the night lying to the cops for you.” Sam latched onto the door handle, as if he might jump out of the Jeep while it was still moving. “And I hope you realize you’ll have to run down about two dozen people to get to the guy you’ve got your eye on.”

“I’m not going to run him down.” Although the thought had crossed his mind. “I have more self control than that.”

“Sure.”

Stiles pulled the Jeep into a free spot beside Opie’s pick-up. He surveyed surroundings as he hopped out of the car, and noticed someone else he knew standing next to a truck a few spaces up.

“Charlie,” He greeted Kyle’s son as he approached the pick-up. “How you doing?”

“Hey Stiles, I’m good.” The teenager grinned brightly.

“I heard your band was playing tonight.” Gemma had mentioned it during one of her many calls reminding him about the fundraiser, she thought he would care because he and Charlie had been friends when Kyle was still a member of SAMCRO. “That’s awesome, dude.”

“I’m kinda nervous about it.” Charlie confessed sheepishly as he grabbed an amp out of the truck’s bed.

“Oh, hey, is this yours?” It was a really nice truck for someone who probably only had his learners permit. “It’s cool, man.”

“Oh no,” Charlie shook his head. “It’s my dad’s.”

“Your dad’s, huh.” That was good information to have. “It’s looks new.”

“Yeah, it is.” The teenager said as he slammed the tailgate shut. “I gotta get to my sound check. I’ll see you at my show later, right?”

“Yep. See you later.” Stiles waved as the kid hurried off toward the school gym. “Hmm.”

He patiently waited until Charlie was safely out of sight before circling Kyle’s vehicle. He ignored Sam’s speculative stare as he maneuvered one of his keys between his fingers and scoped out the perfect spot, the driver side of the truck. Trusting the younger Winchester to be his look out, he took his time when carving _COWARD_ into the paint of the pick-up.

“Really?” Sam raised a brow once Stiles had finished.

“Really, what?” Stiles feigned innocence and slipped is keys into his pocket. “You didn’t see shit.”

Finding a parking spot had been easy, actually getting into the fundraiser took a little longer. There was a small line at the entrance, people waiting to handover the five-dollar entry fee. It was one more way to make money for the school, Stiles was sure, so he handed over his cash without a problem, Sam, on the other hand, did not.

“What’s the problem, man?” He asked when Sam faltered. “It’s for a good cause.”

“It says ‘cash only,’” Sam gestured to the sign on the table. “I only have credit cards.”

“Wow.” Stiles reluctantly handed over another five bucks. “You’re paying to fill up the Jeep on the way back to Beacon Hills.”

“I’m not sure if I’m going back to Beacon Hills or if Dean and I are leaving from here.” Sam admitted as they trekked through the school grounds. “But I’ll make sure you get a full tank of gas.”

“Damn right you will.” He was a high school student and part time mechanic, he wasn’t made of money, and gas was expensive.

“Stiles and, uh, Dean’s brother,” Unser pulled their attention to Charming PDs booth. “Buy a plate of food to support the schools music department.”

“I’m sorry, you want me to give what little of my hard-earned cash I have left to a corrupt police department?” Stiles knew Wayne was an idiot, he was not aware the Chief was also out of his mind. “No, thank you. Find yourself another chump, there’s plenty of them around.”

“All proceeds go to the school.” Wayne argued irritably.

“I might believe that if it wasn’t _your_ hand on the cash box.” He shot back smugly.

“Okay, let’s go find our brothers.” Sam snagged a handful of Stiles shirt and more or less dragged him away from the booth. “You know, for a guy whose dad is a cop, you don’t have a lot of respect for them.”

“I have all the respect in the world for law enforcement.” So long as they did their job to the best of their abilities, protected the public and not just those they believed were most deserving. “It’s Unser I don’t respect. Do you even know how he got that position as Chief?”

“I bet you’re gonna tell me.”

“He was Deputy Chief when my grandfather was Chief. My grandpa was killed in the line of duty, and Unser was promoted.” He didn’t work for the position or earn it, it defaulted to him. “Having power of a police department in a small town like Charming can make or break a community. Unser uses his power to look the other way to the guns and violence, to protect criminal organizations.”

“Criminal organizations like your brothers club.” Sam said pointedly.

“Look, I love my brother and a few select members of the club, but I don’t agree with the things they do.” The Sons of Anarchy dealt in guns, buying and selling. The guns could be sold numerous times after they handed them off. Stiles feared that one-day a gun that SAMCRO sold would end up in the hands of a violent criminal in Beacon Hills, and one of the bullets inside of his father during an arrest gone bad. “If my stance on that ever changes, I want you to shoot me in the head, because something obviously went terribly wrong.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sam vowed and released his hold on Stiles shirt.

They found their respective brothers standing with Donna by the egg toss game, where Kyle had previously been playing with his daughter. Donna and Opie’s children were goofing off with water guns nearby.

“Don’t even think about it, Kenny.” Stiles warned his nephew, who had turned the water pistol on him. “I’ll kick your little butt.”

“Nu-uh.” The boy called his bluff and pulled the trigger, soaking his shirt with a stream of water. “Gotcha!”

“Be nice, Kenny.” Donna chastised her son. “Stiles, did you just get here?”

“Yep.” He kissed her cheek. “And Opie’s already ditched you.”

“Yep.” She didn’t seem too upset about it, a little annoyed maybe. “Jax and Dean have been keeping me company.”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed about that,” Jax complained. “Are we so bad?”

“I wasn’t disappointed. I just thought Stiles had gotten here hours ago and decided to ditch me too.” She explained. “I mean, everyone keeps stopping to tell me how handsome our son is growing up to be. I assumed that meant they’d seen Stiles here.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jax guffawed, face lit up with a smile.

“What part of that is so unbelievable to you, Jackson?” Stiles asked his big brother. “That people find me handsome or that they still think I’m your son?”

“I think you’re very handsome, son.” Donna never could resist playing along with their little ruse.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Don’t encourage him.” Jax’s grousing was only belied by his grin.

“Now that’s just poor parenting. You’re supposed to encourage your children.” Stiles clucked disapprovingly and then looked to his sister-in-law. “For the record, I would never ditch you.”

“I know, son.”

“Am I missing something with the _mom_ and _son_ thing?” Sam questioned, gesturing between Stiles and Donna.

“So much.” Dean chuckled knowingly.

“It’s a running joke in Charming that I’m the product of an affair Donna and Jax had in high school.” Apparently, the pair were the most plausible selection for Stiles parentage. “Whenever I was in Charming as a kid, I was with one of them, rarely my dad, and never Gem. Rumors spread.”

“I never minded the rumors.” Jax murmured offhandedly, his eyes flickering toward the gym. “Hey, I’ll be back. I’m gonna check on Opie and Kyl- the fireworks.”

“While you do that, I need to talk to Stiles, alone.” Dean announced, wrapping his fingers around Stiles upper arm, as if prepared to drag him off to chat by force. “Sammy, you’ll be okay here with Donna.”

“Okay, one, I’m done being manhandled by Winchesters and werewolves.” Stiles yanked out of Dean’s hold, even as he followed him to a vacant space between the main school building and the gym. “Two, this little talk better include you explaining what the fuck you were thinking taking my brother on a hunt.”

“Sure, just as soon as you explain having _my brother_ break into a psychotic hunters house.” Dean countered pragmatically.

“A trained hunter breaking into another hunters home to steal a bullet, is an entirely different situation than a biker going up against demons.” Those situations were so different they weren’t even on the same hemisphere. “You should have told me before you decided to take Jax anywhere.”

“You’re his brother, not his keeper, or his father.” Dean commented callously. “He doesn’t need your permission to do anything and I don’t need your permission to take him anywhere.”

Stiles did not normally express his rage physically, but sometimes felt he had to. On those rare occasions, he usually mimicked his brother, copying a move he had watched Jax pull when challenged, and this time was no different. He grabbed Dean by the lapels of his leather jacket and shoved him roughly in to the cement wall of the gym, something he had seen his brother do plenty of times to douchebags who needed to be taught a lesson.

“Jackson is my brother. I take care of him. That is my job.” His role in the family had always been to take care of his big brother, it wasn’t a task he took lightly. “You wanna go off with Sam to hunt monsters and demons, put yourself in danger every damn second of the day, that’s fine, it’s your decision. You have no right to suck my brother into your life. He’s already got one target on his back with his own club bullshit, he doesn’t need two because he’s off playing hunter with you.”

“Stiles—“

“How about this,” He had the perfect solution to their problem. “You don’t take _my brother_ on anymore hunts with you, and I’ll keep _you_ and _your brother_ out of my newly acquired werewolf problems. Deal?”

“No. No fucking deal.” Dean pushed his forearm against Stiles chest and sent him back several feet, so he was no longer backed against the wall. “If you have a supernatural problem, like werewolves, then you fucking call one of us. Like you said, we’re trained hunters. That’s our job.”

“I’m not gonna call you if every time I do, you use it as an excuse to drag my brother off to battle demons.” That was not something Stiles would ever agree to. “You keep my brother out of your bullshit, and I’ll keep you and your brother out of mine.”

“Counter offer,” The hunter started cautiously. “From now on, if I take your brother on a hunt, I will tell you beforehand, so you have time to guilt him out of going. Deal? That’s the best I’m willing to do.”

“Fine.” As far as negotiations went, that was the best Stiles could hope for.

“I’m sorry for taking Jax along without giving you a heads up.” Dean apologized remorsefully. “He did good, though. Saved my ass.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care how well he did.” He shouldn’t have been out there in the first place. “But I’m, uh, I’m sorry about your friend Richie.”

“Thanks.”

“Now what did you want to talk to me about?” He had a feeling it wasn’t about his brother’s little hunting trip.

“H-How was Sam when you were with him?” Dean inquired hesitantly.

“He was good, a little irritated, but good.” Stiles figured Sam’s aggravation had more to do with Scott’s lack of priorities than it did the task itself.

“He wasn’t cold or detached?”

“No. I mean, if anything, he was worried about Derek.” Stiles had never heard of or witnessed the younger Winchester brother be anything but compassionate and empathetic. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Back in Wyoming, at the Devil’s Gate, there was this moment.” Dean rubbed a hand to the back of his neck agitatedly. “Yellow Eyes said something to me.”

“What did he say?” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and gave the hunter his full attention, knowing anything that had to do with Sam and Yellow Eyes was important to Dean.

“That maybe when Sam came back from…well, wherever, that maybe he came back different.” The tense set of his shoulders offered a visible sign of Dean’s fear of the demon being right.

“What does that mean?” How different were they talking?

“I don’t know. Whatever it was, it just didn’t sound good.” Dean set his lips in a grim line. “You were with him. You saw how he was. Y-You think something’s wrong with my brother?”

“No, I don’t. Sam’s fine. I’m sure of it.” Aside from his obvious worry over Dean’s deal, Sam was as good as to be expected, in Stiles opinion. “Demon’s lie, right? Maybe Yellow Eyes was just trying to make you doubt your brother, drive a wedge between you.”

“Maybe you’re right. I hope you’re right.” Dean acknowledged with a tired sigh.

“Everything okay here?” Jax’s concerned voice pulled their gazes to where he was standing just outside the little alcove.

“Yep.” Stiles affirmed, offering up nothing about the conversation he and Dean just had. “What do you want?”

“I got a club thing I need to handle,” Surprise, surprise. “Stiles, I need you to go to the clubhouse and watch Piney.”

“You want him to babysit an old man?” Dean snickered.

“Why am I watching Piney?” Piney had been Stiles favorite person in the world since he was a baby, outside his father of course. They’d spent a lot of time together, so Stiles was painfully aware of what the old man would think of having a babysitter. “He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”

“I just need you to make sure he doesn’t kill Kyle Hobart.” Jax said it like it would be a bad thing.

“I’m not sure I would be much help in that department.” He was fairly certain no one would care if Kyle turned up missing under mysterious circumstances. “Better question, why would Kyle be at the clubhouse?”

“Unfinished _club_ business.” There was no missing the emphasis on the _club_ part of the _business_.

“In other words, it’s none of _our_ business.” Dean clarified for him in a staged whisper.

“Yeah, I got that, thanks.” Stiles had learned the difference between his brother’s business and club business a long time ago, but that didn’t mean he liked it. “Fine. I’ll go hang out with Piney. I _promise_ I’ll do my best to keep him from getting trigger happy.”

“I’m sure you will.” Jax snorted. “You can give Opie a ride, he wants to leave the truck here with Donna in case she needs to take the kids home.”

“Okay.” Taxi Stilinski was back in service. “Where is Opie?”

“He’s telling Donna where he’s going.” Jax waved a hand behind him, toward the egg toss game. “Oh, and when I’m done with all this shit, you can tell me about what you and Sam got up to with Derek while Dean and I were gone.”

“No, see, because that’s _pack_ business, which means it’s none of _your_ business.” Kinda like how Jax’s club business was none of his business.

“Don’t be a brat.”

“Don’t be an asshole.” Stiles snarked and tried to shoulder past his brother when an arm slithered around his neck. “No, no, no! Jax, don’t!”

Despite his protests, Jax looped his arm around Stiles head, locking it between the crook of his elbow and the side of his body, and ground the knuckles of his fist ruthlessly against Stiles buzzed hair.

“Stop!” Stiles struggled to free himself from his brother’s hold. “Jackson! Stop it!”

“Stop being a brat.” Jax cackled, tightening the headlock. “Apologize and I’ll let you go.”

“Screw you. I’ve got nothing to apologize for. Let me go or I’ll punch you in the nuts.” Stiles had found himself in the hold more times than he could count, so he knew how to get out of it, but he was nice enough to give Jax the option of releasing him before things escalated. “I swear I’ll do it, Jackson.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will!” He’d done it before.

“You two have fun. I’m gonna go find Sam.” Dean chuckled as he walked away before he could be seen with them.

“Let go, Jax.” Stiles brought his arm back and prepared to sock his brother in the groin, bro-code be damned. “Okay. Fine. I’ll just—“

“No, don’t!” Jax yelped and released him. “Okay. Okay. I’m done.”

Stiles debated payback, thought about jumping on his brother’s back and putting him in a chokehold, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort or physical pain he would endure for it. Instead, he stuck out his tongue like a five-year old.

“Very mature, baby brother.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that headlock was the epitome of maturity.” Stiles grumbled, he and his brother both acted like children under the right circumstances, Piney and Gemma still put in the corner for time-out sometimes at the clubhouse, it was embarrassing. “I’m going to get Opie so we can get out of here.”

“We’ll talk later.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll pencil you in.” He huffed and stalked off without another word.

He didn’t bother to stop when he passed by Opie and Donna, he just smacked a hand to Opie’s arm to let him know it was time to go. It didn’t take much to get the Son to follow him to the parking lot, where they came across Kyle inspecting the vandalism done to his truck.

“Dude, that sucks.” Stiles commented cheekily. “You must have pissed somebody off.”

“Yeah, I must have.” Kyle narrowed his eyes and gave him a once-over, like he was trying to place him, figure out where they’d met before. “You’re Jax’s little brother. You’re still the runt of the litter, huh, just like the last time I saw you.”

“The last time I saw you, you were so scared that you’d pissed your pants waiting out your mayhem vote.” Stiles had only been a kid at the time, but for some reason, the club had allowed him to help the prospects ‘guard’ Kyle for the duration of the vote. “Hey, we gotta go, but if I were you, I’d check your brake lines. I wouldn’t put it past someone to cut ‘em.”

“Someone, huh?” Kyle eyed him suspiciously.

“Stiles, come on.” Opie calmly urged him to the Jeep. “Let’s go.”

Stiles sent Kyle a jaunty wave before he moseyed over to his own vehicle. It wasn’t until they were in the privacy of the Jeep that Opie chose to speak.

“I’m not gonna ask if you’re the one who keyed his truck,” The older man could figure that one out for himself. “It’s the brake line I’m worried about. Do we need to get your alibi straight and have a lawyer on standby?”

“Relax. I didn’t mess with his brake line.” He could have, though, and that’s all he wanted Kyle to know. “Even if I had, I’m not stupid enough to leave evidence or witnesses behind.”

“Right.”

* * *

 

Sam left Dean to the tender mercies of Gemma’s friend LuAnn at the SAMCRO booth and chose to wander around the fundraiser out of boredom. He really should have known he wouldn’t be alone for long, he never was.

“Your brother and his boy-toy killed two demons the other day.” Ruby brought up nonchalantly as she fell in to step beside him.

“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t care, but they killed two humans too.” They hadn’t done it on purpose, the humans were collateral damage to the exorcism.

“Sam, you know what happens when demons piggyback humans. They leave them rode hard and put up wet. If you had gone with Dean on that hunt, you could’ve put them out of their misery, shot them with the Colt I helped Bobby put back together.” The demon condemned his actions. “Instead, you decided to play with werewolves, and Prince Charming was left to exorcise the demons, leaving their meat suits to die slow, sticky deaths.”

“Put them out of their misery….” Sam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and scowled at the woman. “You’re a cold bitch, you know that?”

“This cold bitch has saved your ass a couple times now.” She reminded him. “Some respect would be nice, especially if you want me to help you out with Dean and his little problem.”

“You know, you keep dangling that in front of me.” The demon always found a way to mention during their little chats. “But last I checked, Dean’s still going to hell.”

“Everything in its own time, Sam.” Yeah, she’d been selling that line too when he questioned her intentions. “There is a quid pro quo here. We’re in a war.”

“And for some reason you’re fighting on our team.” That was the part that just didn’t sync up in Sam’s mind. “Why is that again?”

“Go screw yourself, that’s why.”

“I see.” The evasiveness did nothing to stave his suspicions.

“I don’t have to justify my actions to you, Sam. If you don’t want my help, fine. But if you do,” She stepped into his space until they were nose-to-nose. “Then it won’t be easy. You’re gonna have to do things that go against that gentle nature of yours. There’ll be collateral damage, but it has to be done.”

“I don’t have to like it.” He didn’t like half the things he had to do, especially if it was destined to end bloody.

“You wouldn’t be Sam if you did. On the brightside, I’ll be there with you.” She leaned in close to whisper into his ear. “That little fallen angel on your shoulder.”

“Sam,” Gemma’s voice startled him into stumbling away from Ruby like they had just been caught doing something they shouldn’t have been. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” He smiled timidly.

“Who’s your friend?” The older woman settled her hands on her hips and scrutinized the demon.

“I’m nobody and I was just leaving.” Ruby sauntered off as quickly as she’d come, not in the mood for whatever conversation Gemma had in mind.

“Nobody, huh?” Gemma inquired curiously.

“Yeah, she’s nobody.” Ruby was not someone Sam could really explain to anyone, let alone to his bother’s sort of mother-in-law. “Just some girl.”

“Right, well, I know it’s none of my business,” Somehow, he didn’t think that was going to stop her from saying what she wanted to say. “But a little advice? I’ve watched girls parade in and out of the clubhouse for years. I’ve learned to spot the good from the bad. And that girl, your friend _Nobody_ , she’s bad news.”

“I know.” He caught that vibe off Ruby even before he’d found out she was a demon.

“If it’s just about getting your dick sucked, then I can point you in the direction of a couple ladies who would be more than happy to do that for you.” Gemma volunteered her ‘matchmaking’ services. “And they aren’t likely to stab you in the back like your little friend who just left.”

“N-No! It’s not—I’m not—me an-and her,” He gestured wildly in the direction Ruby had gone off in. “It’s not a sex thing. It’s, uh, a hunter thing. She’s a contact, that’s all.”

“That’s the story you’re going with?” The SAMCRO matriarch seemed wholly unimpressed by it.

“Yes ma’am.” It wasn’t a story, so to speak, it was the closest to the truth as he could get.

“Well, it stinks. Come up with a better one.” She instructed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair in a maternal fashion. “And don’t call me ma’am.”

“Yes...ma’am.”

“Shithead.”

* * *

 

Jax returned to the clubhouse with Clay and Tig after shit with Otto’s friend Chucky and Henry Lin’s crew fell through. Kyle was sitting by himself at the bar, while Piney and Stiles were playing pool as Half-Sack watched on.

“How’d it go with the Chinese?” Piney pulled himself away from his game long enough to ask.

“Not too good.” Jax muttered as he made his way to the pool table to stand next to his little brother. “You still pissed at me?”

“I was never pissed.” The teenager claimed as he lined up a shot. “Mildly annoyed at best.”

“Well, are you done being mildly annoyed then?” He had a feeling he already knew the answer to that, and the only response he would receive from his brother would be _mildly_ passive-aggressive.

“I guess that depends on if you plan to delve into a part of my life outside Charming that has nothing to do with you, while keeping me in the dark about parts of your life that have nothing to do with me.” Stiles retorted as he took his shot, landing a ball in the corner pocket.

“Do yourself a favor, Jax, don’t do that.” Piney recommended with a smirk.

“I wasn’t planning to.” Not at the moment anyway. “Stiles, I need you to take Opie back to the fundraiser. He should be with his family.”

“You mean you need him to have plausible deniability for whatever you’ve got planned for dumbass over there,” Stiles kept his voice low to prevent Kyle from overhearing. “And you don’t want me involved because I’m your little brother and you feel like you have to shield me from club shit.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Then just say it, don’t pussyfoot around it.” The kid griped. “Being straightforward with me is usually the better option.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” He would take it under advisement. “Will you get Opie out of here, please?”

“Fine.” Stiles handed his pool cue off to Sack. “Opie, you ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’d better get back to the fireworks.” Opie weaved around the bar. “Or your mom’s gonna be stuffing gunpowder up my ass.”

“Yeah, I’m sure we’re all on the Gemma shit list by now.” Jax really wished he was joking about that.

“I live on that shit list.” Clay joked, earning a round of chuckles from the guys.

Jax placed a hand on his little brother’s back and guided him and Opie to the hall that led to the side entrance of the clubhouse. He stopped short of the door and just out of hearing distance of those in the main room.

“You okay with this?” He addressed Opie, referring to what would soon be happening to Kyle.

“Yeah.” Opie nodded. “You?”

“I’m good.” What would befall Kyle was a necessary evil, an avoidable one too if Kyle wasn’t such an idiot.

“I’m good with it too.” Stiles proclaimed, as if he had any idea about what would be going down.

“No one asked you.” Opie cuffed their little brother on the back of the head. “Look, Jax, what I was saying earlier, about everything heading in the opposite direction and nothing hooking up, it doesn’t mean I don’t want this.”

“I know.” SAMCRO was what they had both wanted since they were kids, a little trouble in their personal lives wasn’t going to change that.

“I’d rather be dead than be that guy.” Opie motioned toward Kyle. “Excommunicated from the club…couldn’t do it.”

“You and I are gonna have a long talk about your priorities on our way back to the fundraiser.” Stiles decided, clinching his jaw at Opie’s words.

“Oh joy,” Opie groaned in displeasure. “Just what I wanted to complete my day, a lecture. You know, Jax feels the same way I do.”

“No, I don’t. Don’t you lie to him.” There was no way in hell Jax was setting himself up for another one of Stiles talks about responsibilities and prioritizing family and the club. He was still recovering from the last one. “You guys should get going. I can hear Mom swearing from here.”

Once his brothers were off and on their way out, Jax made his way back to the bar. Kyle seemed content to shoot the breeze with the current club members. He was the serene picture of a man who had no idea the pain he was in store for.

“So, Jax, I heard you had a kid.” Kyle commented as Jax took a seat at the end of the bar. “Congrats, man.”

“Thanks.”

“I was wondering when you were gonna stop riding that Dean guys dick and find yourself an old lady,” Kyle remarked humorously and failed to notice no one shared his feelings. “There’s no place for a fag in SAMCRO, you know.”

Jax laughed along with Kyle for a moment, like they were both in on the same joke. He abruptly cut off his laughter just as he brought a hand to the back of Kyle’s head and slammed it down to the bar in a swift movement.

“So, Bobby, you tell Kyle about your Knucklehead?” Jax asked, completely nonplused by the blood gushing from Kyle’s nose.

“Who got a Knucklehead?” Kyle proved he wasn’t a total moron when he chose to take Jax’s lead and act like he had not just been assaulted for making a homophobic comment.

“’48, mint.” Bobby Elvis relayed proudly. “It’s so beautiful it’ll blind you.”

“Where?” Kyle’s eyes darted around the room excitedly, as if it were there somewhere.

“Come on.” Jax stood from the bar. “Let’s go take a look at it.”

“Right this way, mister.” Bobby Elvis extended an arm exaggeratedly toward the garage.

Jax wondered how long it would take Kyle to catch on to the ruse. The former club member had staggered around the garage for a few minutes, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, looking for a Knucklehead that wasn’t there. Jax took a special kind of pleasure in watching the smile slip from his face. 

“What is this?” Kyle asked when he realized he had been duped.

“Take your shirt off.” Jax ordered in a placid tone.

“Come on, Jax.” Kyle tittered nervously.

“Take it off!” Jax demanded when asking nicely failed to garner a proper reaction.

Kyle wasn’t given a choice in the matter. Bobby Elvis and Tig both grappled him from the side and forced the t-shirt over his head. It gave them all an unrestricted view of the reaper still inked on Kyle’s back.

“I’m sorry.” Kyle panted, out of breath from the struggle. “I’m sorry, Clay. I know I was supposed to black it out. I tried, man. I went a bunch of times, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t do it. This is the only thing I have left, Jax. Please, I’m sorry.”

“Fire or knife.” Clay laid out his options, and the son of a bitch was lucky to be getting that much.

“Answer him.” Jax advised as Kyle looked to him for help.

“Jax…” Kyle said his name like a prayer, but Jax was not a higher power willing to listen. “Fire.”

It didn’t take long for Piney and Bobby Elvis to chain Kyle up between the car lifts once his choice had been made. Jax’s only act of mercy was to offer Kyle a swig of tequila before dousing his back with the drink. It was Tig who lit the blowtorch, readied it for use.

“You want the first hit?” Tig held the torch out to him.

“No, man, that’s you.” Jax would much rather stand back and watch while the smell of burning flesh filled his nose.

* * *

 

Opie disappeared to deal with the fireworks almost as soon as they got back to the fundraiser. It left Stiles alone to watch Charlie Hobart’s band play until he spotted Donna and the kids in the crowd.

“Hey Mom,” The moniker earned him a small smile and a soft jab to the rib cage. “You okay? You seem deep in thought for someone listening to music.”

“I was just thinking about some things Jax said to me earlier about Opie and the club.” She admitted. “He said Opie can’t be half-in/half-out.”

“Yeah, ‘cause Jax is such an authority on the subject.” His brother had never had to be anything but all-in when it came to SAMCRO. “I think if Opie wants his family and his kutte, he’ll find the balance.”

“And if he can’t?”

“Trying to give a hundred percent to both is what will get him killed.” It would run Opie ragged, making him sloppy in the moments he needed to be at the top of his game. “You know I’ve never agreed with the clubs mantra of blood family being pushed back a row and club family coming first.”

“A part of me feels guilty for even thinking about making Opie choose between our family and the club.” She confessed despondently. “I mean, we’ve been together since high school, before he prospected. I knew what he was, who he was going to be, when I married him, but….”

“That was before the kids were born and before Opie did his five year stretch in Stockton.” The kids didn’t ask for their father to be some biker who was never around, just as Donna never asked to be left alone for years to raise their family by herself while Opie was doing time for the club. “It’s okay to feel different about it now, anyone would. It’s not something you should ever feel guilty for.”

“Jax said I was the glue for Opie, but he also said Opie would never leave SAMCRO.” Donna twisted the wedding ring on her finger anxiously. “How can I be the glue for someone who, if it came down to it, would choose the club over our family?”

“If it came down to it, Opie would choose the club.” As would Jax and every other member, there was no denying it, it was just the way things were. “But without you, Opie would fall apart, he would be a shell of who he is. You keep him sane and levelheaded. You hold him together.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do.” He had seen it happen before, his mom had been his father’s glue, and his dad had never gotten back what he lost when she died. “For what it’s worth, he is trying to be better for you and the kids, but he could use some help.”

“I’ll do what I can.” She assured him. “You know where he is?”

“Fireworks.”

Warmth spread through him as he watched Donna and the kids join Opie at the firework display. He didn’t follow them, it was a private family moment that the Winston’s needed and he wouldn’t intrude on that. Instead, he chose to seek out Gemma, who he found leaning against the gym wall with a cigarette dangling from her lips.

“You get Donna and Opie sorted out?” She asked as she passed the cigarette over to him.

“Yep.” For now at least, he was sure there would be a new set of problems soon enough. “You tell April Hobart where to find Kyle?”

“Yep.” Then their jobs were done for the day.


	5. Telling Bedtime Stories of AK-51's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Gif sets: [Parent-Teacher Conferences](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/149912296214/charming-wayward-sons-verse-parent-teacher), [Overstayed Your Welcome](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/149872252004/charming-wayward-sons-verse-overstayed-your).  
> Episodes: [SOA] 1x06 AK-51, [SPN] 3x05 Bedtime Stores, [TW] 1x05 The Tell  
> 

Being one of three kids, Derek spent a good portion of his childhood involved in one squabble or another with his sisters. He and Laura fought like cats and dogs after the fire, usually about Laura’s choice to leave their Uncle Peter behind, or her need to show off her alpha status by ordering him around. He was no stranger to the tension, to the push and shove that came with fighting a sibling.

Walking into the motel room late in the afternoon to find the Winchesters bitching at each other would have made most feel uncomfortable, but it gave Derek a sense of familiarity.

“We can summon the crossroads demon, pull the gun on her,” The younger Winchester waved the Colt around haphazardly. “And force her to let you out of your deal.”

“We are not summoning anything.” Dean put his foot down on that idea. “And we don’t even know if that would work.”

“Well, then we’ll just shoot her.” Sam decided brusquely. “If she dies, the deal goes away.”

“We don’t know if that will work.” Dean repeated tiredly. “All you’re pitching me right now is a bunch of ifs and maybes, and that’s not good enough, because if we screw with this deal, you die.”

“And if we don’t screw with it, _you die_.” Sam shot back, desperation lacing his tone.

“Sam, enough!” Dean snapped harshly, finally having reached the end of his rope. “I’m not gonna have this conversation.”

“Why?” Sam asked challengingly. “Because you said so?”

“Yes.” Dean nodded. “Because I said so.”

“Well, you’re not Dad!” Sam remarked callously, causing his older brother to flinch.

“No, but I am the oldest, and I’m doing what’s best.” Dean declared with a note of finality in his voice. “You are gonna let this go, you understand me?”

“Fine.” Sam agreed, but the blip in his heart away the lie, to Derek at least.

“Now tell me about the psychotic killed.” Dean prompted. “Come on, Sammy, tell me about the psychotic killer.”

“ _’Psychotic Killer: Rips victims apart with brute-like ferocity.’_ ” Sam read off a newspaper printout lying on the table.

“Any mention of razor-sharp teeth or four-inch claws?” Dean cast a subtle glance Derek’s way. “Animal eyes.”

“No, but the lunar cycles right.” Sam turned to Derek to support his theory. “I mean, there are different types of werewolves, but that fact remains the same, right? The closer it is to the full moon, the less control werewolves have?”

“That’s right.” He didn’t understand why they were looking to him for confirmation, they were seasoned hunters who had obviously dealt with wolves before. “You just have to figure out which kind of werewolf, mine or the other kind.”

“You wanna come along?” Dean proposed a joint werewolf-hunter hunting trip. “Help us figure it out?”

“Oh, uh, I can’t.” He had more important things to do that didn’t involve hunting his own kind or a variation of it. “I have stuff to do.”

“Looking for the rogue alpha?” Dean leveled him with a look of disapproval. “Not by yourself you’re not.”

“It’s too dangerous.” Sam added his two-cents. “The last time you got close to it, the Argents weren’t far behind, and they shot you.”

“And I healed.” A little gunshot wound wasn’t enough to keep him down for long. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.” Sam told him as he set the Colt down on the table. “I’m gonna check the supplies in the Impala. Dean, don’t forget to give him or Bobby the list.”

“What list?” Derek asked the older Winchester brother as the younger left the room.

“Oh, Sam put together a list of houses for rent in town.” Dean picked up a slip of paper from the table and held it out to him. “If you plan to stay in one place, then you might as well have a home base, so you’re not wasting money on a motel.”

“I don’t need a house.” Houses were for families, he didn’t really have much of one anymore. “I was going to look into a loft downtown.”

“Houses are safer, less chance of nosy neighbors catching onto your supernatural secret.” The hunter made a ‘grr’ noise in the back of his throat, an apparent nod to Derek’s werewolf side. “And you wouldn’t want an apartment manager or maintenance guy stumbling across one of Bobby’s weapons or books.”

“I kept my secret just fine in New York.” It was a little harder given how many people were around, but he and Laura had both succeeded in keeping their shifter-sides hidden. “I don’t think my dad would leave anything too odd at my place.”

“He would if he was living there to.” Dean knitted his brows together in a frown. “You don’t want to live with your dad?”

“He can’t stay here.” He wouldn’t mind living with Bobby, honestly, but it wasn’t the right place or time. “It’s not safe for him here.”

“It’s not safe for you either.” Dean gestured to Derek’s formally injured arm. “But I highly doubt you would run off to Sioux Falls with Bobby if he asked you to.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I find the person who killed my sister.”

“Hey, man, I understand the need for revenge. I do.” Dean admitted as he took a seat on one of the beds. “Revenge is part of what drove my dad to do some of the things he did, to become a hunter, to train Sam and me. He wanted to kill the demon that killed my mom. I used to think that was the only reason he did those things.”

“It wasn’t?” It wasn’t his place to ask, but his dad wanted him to get to know the Winchesters, and if Dean was going to freely offer up information, then he might as well take advantage.

“Keeping us on the road, on the move, is what kept us hidden, and kept Sam safe. It kept the demon that wanted to turn my brother into some boy-king of demons off our tail.” The hunter divulged. “The same demon that killed my mom, and later my dad, was always after Sam. If he couldn’t mold Sam into what he wanted, then one of his other special children would step up to the plate.”

“It wasn’t just your brother?” Special children trained to rule demons, that sounded terrifying.

“He had a whole group of plan B’s. He pitted them against each other,” Dean, visibly agitated, reached up to fiddle with the pendant on his necklace. “Whichever one of them made it out alive would rule the big evil army.”

“Sam made it.” Derek wasn’t sure if that meant Sam had killed to survive or not.

“No, he didn’t. He was stabbed in the back. He died in my arms.” Dean curled in on himself ever so slightly, haunted by the memory, but refusing to let himself show more weakness than he needed to. “I got him back. I made this deal and I got him back.”

“The demon deal that Dad and Sam have been talking about.” The one the brothers were fighting about just a minute ago. “What does it mean? The demon brought your brother back, what’s your end of the deal?”

“I have a year to live. Well, it’s less than that now. When I die, my soul goes to hell.” Dean confessed with a shrug of his shoulders, as if the destination did not strike fear in his heart. “I guess in a way it-it makes sense. My dad made a deal to save me, and now I’ve made a deal to save Sam.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” It was just sad that the hunter believed he deserved to be dead and destined for the pit, because someone else made the same selfless sacrifice for him. “They’re trying to find you away out of it, your brother and my dad. That’s what all the research is for. That’s just another reason for Dad to go back to Sioux Falls, so he can focus on that.”

“Nice try, kid. There’s no fixing it. Trying to find some Hail Mary is just their way of putting off accepting the inevitable.” Dean reckoned. “You know, I didn’t tell you all that to give you one more reason to shove your dad out the door.”

“Why did you tell me?”

“About the deal? Because you need to take care of Bobby when it’s done. I know he’ll look after Sam, but someone needs to look after him.” Dean said pointedly. “And it’s gonna be really hard to do that if you get yourself killed in your revenge plot.”

“I’m not going to let the people who killed my family just walk away.” He was forced to do that once and ended up losing his sister because of it.

“I’m not telling you to. I wouldn’t.” Dean acknowledged. “I just want you to be smart about it. Stop going off on your own, half-cocked, and putting yourself at risk.”

“I’m not gonna put my dad at risk either.” It was his fight, no one else’s.

“Your dad’s gone up against a lot worse than some out of control hunters and a rogue werewolf.” If that was supposed to be comforting, it missed the mark entirely. “And he’s not the only player on the field. Sam and I will do whatever we can to help.”

“It’s not your problem.” And from what Derek could see, they had enough going on.

“Bobby is family, and you’re his son.” Dean reminded him, like it was something he could forget. “We’re gonna help whether you like it or not. Deal it with it, kiddo.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Nope.”

* * *

 

It wasn’t often that Stiles arrived TM before anyone else, especially on a week day, however this morning, he somehow managed to make it into the office before even Gemma. He had already opened  the garage and started on paper work left over from the previous day when the older woman finally showed up.

“What are you doing here so early?” She asked as she dropped her purse onto the desk.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He had been up half the night doing research for Sam, and sleeping was not an option when Dean’s potential death was at the forefront of his mind. “I went by Jax’s place first, he wasn’t there.”

“He had some club business to handle this morning. He should be back soon.” She didn’t go into detail, which was enough to tell him that the business was illegal business. “Don’t you have school today?”

“Nope. Teachers are prepping for the parent-teacher conferences tomorrow night.” Stiles was one of the lucky few who did not have to attend with his parent.

“If the conferences aren’t until tomorrow night, why don’t they give you tomorrow off, so they can prep then?”

“They think if we know they’ll be speaking to our parents that night, that we’ll be on our best behavior in class.” He had a feeling the teachers enjoyed seeing the terror in their eyes when they accidently stepped out of line. “I’m not worried. The only teacher that’s gonna bad mouth me is Harris. He’ll do it no matter how well I do in his class.”

“And what did you do to him?”

“Nothing. I did nothing.” Stiles claimed innocently. “He’s the teacher Mom slugged when I was in grade school. He was a student teacher then. I mean, in all fairness, I did break a classroom window by throwing a textbook at it, but I was a little kid and frustrated, and Harris was an asshole.”

“That’s right. He thought you cheated on some worksheet, ‘cause you finished before the other students, so he kept giving you new work to do, even after all the other kids had gone to recess.” Gemma recalled from memory. “Didn’t you and Claudia get arrested for that?”

“Her for assault and me for destruction of property.” His dad’s face had been priceless when he watched Deputy Graeme bring he and his mom into the station. “DA Hale laughed off the charges. Her daughter Cora was in the same class, she knew what douche Harris was. Dad did have to pay for the window though.”

“So this teacher is punishing you for something you did when you were a child?”

“Pretty much. So if you’re bored and feeling maternal, you can go to the conferences with Dad and torment Harris.” He joked, finding the image of his dad and Gemma attending a school function together hilarious.

“Don’t tempt me.” She warned and urged him out of the desk chair. “Up. I need to get to work.”

“Yeah. All right.” He moved to the sofa where he had dropped his backpack when he’d come in. “Any news on Abel? I haven’t had a chance to check on him in a few days.”

“He’s doing good.” Gemma assured him. “He’s a strong boy.”

“He’s gotta be.” To live the life they did, you had to be tough. “I’ll make time to see him before I head home tonight. Has Jax gone by the hospital in a while?”

“He goes to read to the baby every couple days, so do I.” She said as something outside the open door caught her attention. “Boys are back.”

“Yep.” He could hear the motorcycle engines roaring in the lot.

“Hey,” Clay stuck in his head into the office. “We okay, Gem?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about earlier.” Gemma stood from the desk and strode over to her husband. “I-I just…- It was a strange morning. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Clay leaned in to give her a quick kiss. “I’ll be in the clubhouse.”

“All right, darlin.” Gemma rested her hip against the doorjamb as her husband walked away, only for Half-Sack to take his place.

“Do you have the number for the septic guy?” The prospect questioned sheepishly. 

“Piney filled the tanks already?” Gemma quipped as she peeled a sticky note with the number scrawled on it off the computer monitor.

“Yeah, and someone’s been flushing lace panties.”

“The fuck?” Stiles scrunched up his face at the prospect’s words.

“I don’t even know what to say to that.” Gemma shook her head and sent an imploring gaze Stiles way. “Just to be clear, you had nothing to do with that, right?”

“Dude, ew. No.” Why the hell would he be flushing women’s underwear down the toilet? “Even I’m not that weird. I bet I can guess who is, though.”

“Right.” She shoved the number at Sack. “Call the septic guy.”

“Yes ma’am.” The prospect accepted the sticky note but lingered in the doorway. “Oh, um, you look real nice today, Gemma.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” She grinned at the compliment.

“Christ.” Stiles got up off the couch so he could smack the prospect upside the head. “Don’t be a kiss ass. Sucking up to Gem isn’t going to earn you top rockers.”

“I wasn’t trying to suck up.” Half-Sack denied indignantly. “I was being nice.”

“Sure.” Stiles scoffed as he watched a truck pull into the lot and familiar face hop out of the driver’s seat. “Ooh, Juice is back.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re here so early.” Gemma smirked knowingly. “You knew he was getting back today.”

“It’s not like that.” It wasn’t as if he was planning to spend the day staring at Juice’s ass. “I need his help with something.”

“What exactly do you need _his_ help with?” Gemma put her hands on her hips. “Or shouldn’t I ask? Maybe it’s a little too personal for a mother’s ears.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.” Contrary to popular belief, sex was not the only thing on his mind. “I just need a favor.”

He snagged his backpack off the sofa and trudged out of the office, nearly colliding with Sack as he did so. The prospect was busy gawking at the girl who had apparently hitched a ride with Juice, to notice anything else, while Juice was in the middle of getting his ass reamed by his Pres and VP.

“What were you thinking, man?” Jax snapped, popping Juice on the back of the head.

“What was I supposed to do? Just throw her out of the cab?” Juice shrilled as he grabbed the chick by the arm. “Let’s go. Let’s go.”

“Get me out of here.” The young woman relented, letting herself be more or less dragged away.

“Hey kid,” Jax greeted when he spotted him. “No school today?”

“Teacher prep day.” He repeated what he had told Gemma. “Who’s the girl?”

“Some sweetbutt from Indian Hills.” Jax waved a dismissive hand toward the chick’s retreating form. “You here for me?”

“Nope.” He could swear he saw a flicker of disappointment cross his brother’s face. “I came to get a few hours work in and to ask Juice for a favor. I’d say we can have dinner together, but Dad’s working late so I was going to take him some food while he was on shift.”

“Lunch?” Jax asked hopefully. “If no club shit comes up, I mean.”

“Yeah, sure. You’re buying though.” Stiles knocked their shoulders together. “You gotta get to work?”

“Not yet. I gotta talk to Mom for a minute.” He jerked a thumb toward the office. “You need Juice for something, get him now, once I’m done talking to Mom we’re at the table.”

“Okay.”

“And make sure he gets that gash out of here, before Mom sees her.”

“I got it.” It wasn’t hard to figure out why the chick would need to stay off Gemma’s radar. “You go talk to Gem, I’ll make sure Clay’s piece of ass is safely off the premises.”

“I never said she and Clay—“

“Why else would you want her out of Gemma’s line of sight?” Stiles was not new to this shit. It wasn’t the first time Clay had stepped out on Gemma. “I’ll handle it.”

With that, he left his brother at the office and headed off in the same direction Juice had gone, to the garage’s back entrance. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the Son had not been successful in removing the girl from the property. If anything, he looked a second away from being slapped by her.

“I didn’t come here for Clay!” She proclaimed exasperatedly.

“I don’t care!” Juice shouted in annoyance. “You need to go. Now!”

“Not until—“

“Honey,” Stiles snapped as he came to stand beside Juice. “Take a hike.”

“I want to talk to Half-Sack.” She stomped her foot.

“If he wanted to talk to you, he would have given you his phone number.” Stiles assumed if Sack actually liked the chick, he would have found a way to keep in touch. “You were asked to leave. I’d advise you to go before he removes you by force.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” She hitched her bag high on her shoulder and stalked out the back gate. “Jerks.”

“Okay, now that she’s handled.” Stiles flashed Juice his brightest grin. “I need a small favor.”

“What kind of a favor?” Juice’s inquiry was not followed by the long-suffering sigh that usually accompanied others when Stiles asked for something, he was counting that as a win.

“I need you to hack Beacon County records database.” Normally, he would use his dad’s work computer to do it, but his pops was keeping an extra sharp eye on that lately. “It’s an old case file, the Hale fire, it’d be from 2005.”

“Hale, as in Singer’s kid. You want the file about his family’s murder.” Juice deduced as they made their way to the clubhouse. “The last I heard, your dad was in the know about all that. Why don’t you just ask him for the file?”

“Because he reopened the case and doesn’t want me involved.” He had given Stiles a long lecture about how it was too dangerous. “I just wanna help. I want to look things over and see if anything pops out at me.”

“I’m not saying no,” Juice started as he held the clubhouse door open for him. “But you're spinning a lot of plates already. You’re busy with school, your friend Scott is a brand new werewolf, and you’re doing super secret research with Sam.”

“It’s not that secret if you know about it.” It was really only supposed to be kept a secret from Jax and anyone who would tell him about it. “How do you know about that?”

“I pay attention.”

“What specifically do you know about what we’re researching?”

“Only that you don’t want your brother to know about it.” There was the barest hint of disapproval in Juice’s voice, he obviously didn’t agree with Stiles choice to keep Jax in the dark. “So it’s probably about Dean.”

“It is.” And that was all Juice needed to know about it. “I do have a lot going on, but I work better when things are chaotic, it’s calming to me. And I really need that file, Juice. Can you get it for me or not?”

“I’ll get it, but it’s gonna have to wait until after church.” He nodded toward the chapel. “After that I’ll get on the computer and see about getting you the file. Okay?”

“Thank you.” He expressed his gratitude by pressing his lips to Juice’s, offering a kiss that lasted longer than it probably should have.

“Oh.” Juice’s eyes went comically wide as he pulled their lips apart slowly.

“Uh,” He was tempted to apologize or act like it never happened, but that would only make things awkward, and honestly, he wasn’t sorry at all. “Yeah. Thank you for, uh, help with the file.”

“Anytime.” Juice licked his lips, as if he could still taste Stiles there. “Thank _you_.”

“Anytime.” He smirked and felt someone grip a handful of his shirt.

“You boys might want to break up this little love fest.” Piney used his hold on Stiles shirt to yank him back several feet, putting space between him and Juice. “Jax sees it, he’ll throw a fit.”

“I have been waiting to do that since I was eight!” There was nothing his brother could do to ruin that for him. “Jax ain’t taking that kiss from me.”

“You’ve been waiting that long to kiss me?” Juice beamed, his face lit up vibrantly. “’Thank you’ kiss or not, if I had known that I would have participated more.”

“You want another shot?” Stiles was more than open to that.

“Rein it in, Casanova.” Piney tugged him back a few more feet. “And Juice, if Jax don’t scare ya, then you should remember Stiles ain’t eighteen just yet and his daddy’s a sheriff.”

“I know that. I wasn’t going to—I mean, I was, but I wasn’t, um....” Juice spluttered as he tried to talk himself out of the predicament he found himself in. “We’re friends for—uh, I mean, we’re just fr-friends…?”

“For now.” The old man finished for him. “Let’s keep it that way for a little while longer, to keep any shit from getting stirred up. All right?”

“Okay.” Juice agreed, albeit grudgingly, and offered Stiles an apologetic smile. “I, uh, I should get to chapel.”

“Yes, you should.” Piney reached out and shoved Juice in the right direction before averting his attention to Stiles. “And you—“

“No, _you_ ,” Stiles rounded on the older man, poking an accusing finger to his chest. “What the hell was that? I’ve got almost nine years of work put into him. I was _this_ close to…to….something!”

“You got your kiss, take the win.” The old man patted his shoulder consolingly. “You can wait to get into his pants.”

“It’s not about sex.” It went deeper than that, or it would be if they ever had a damn chance of moving past the friend stage. “Why would you take that from me?”

“I’m not taking anything from you.” Piney wrapped an arm around him in a half-hug. “I just think you and Juice both have a little more growing up to do before you start something serious. You understand?”

“Yeah, I get it.” He was probably right about that. “You gotta get to the table, old man?”

“Yep.” He sighed heavily. “See you in a bit, kiddo.”

“I’ll be here.”

* * *

 

Jax’s day had started out pretty well, despite the fact that he had woken up alone. He had earned ten grand for the club selling a few AK’s to an old war buddy of Piney’s, Nate Meineke. He even made plans to have lunch with his little brother. He should have known it would go to shit at some point.

Early in the afternoon he had watched Clay be taken away by the ATF, after Piney’s friend had used the guns they’d sold him to attack a prison transport van and kill a couple cops. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the last person Meineke called hadn’t been someone at TM, that complicated things a bit. One of the dead cops being a friend of a deputy SAMCRO had on its payroll did not help the situation either.

“How’d it go with our friend?” Opie asked as Jax lumbered into the clubhouse.

“He was pissed and a little uncooperative at first, but I got him to come around.” He had to threaten the deputy to do it, but it got the job done. “Juice, you got anything for me?”

“Nothing’s coming up under Meineke, other than discount tires.” Juice griped, glowering at the computer screen.

“Nate reached out.” Piney announced, making his way over from the bar.

“I thought I told you to go underground?” Jax should have known the old man wouldn’t listen to a damn thing he had to say.

“They’re in some survivalist bunker outside Woodbridge Forest.” Piney rallied on, ignoring Jax’s grousing.

“You gotta set up a meet.” With any luck they’d get this shit settled sooner rather than later.

“And then what happens?”

“They killed three people in cold blood and there’s a straight line back to this club.” There was only one way it could go down with Meineke. “What the hell do you think happens, Piney?”

“I just talked to Trammel.” Bobby Elvis said as he and Chibs shoved their way in through the side door. “The feds got a warrant to rip this place up.”

“Shit!” That was just what they needed right now. “Piney, cabin, now!”

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Piney snarled, tearing his nasal cannula off.

The old man’s move spurred the other Sons into action. All at once, they surrounded the Jax, forming a protective semi-circle around him, while coaxing Piney back with hands to his chest. From their reactions, it was more like the old man had brandished a gun, not removed the tubes that fed him oxygen.

“Relax, relax, relax.” Jax instructed his crew, knowing full well Piney wouldn’t hurt him.

“Kick his ass, Piney!” Stiles egged the old man on from his place at the pool table.

“Goddamn it, Stiles.” Jax scrubbed a hand down his face. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not helping _you_.” The kid corrected smugly. “I’m Team Piney, always have been.”

“Bobby, call Gemma, have her swing by and pick up the smart ass before she goes anywhere else.” Jax ordered. “He doesn’t need to be here for the raid.”

“On it.” Bobby complied, flipping the prepay cellphone open.

“Hey, I get that you don’t want me here when the feds bust down the door.” Stiles acknowledged, his annoyance at being sent away was loud and clear in his tone. “But I drove here, I can drive away.”

“You’ll park down the block, wait until the feds are here, and then come running back so you can scope them out.” Jax was under no illusion that his little brother would stay out of it if he was given a choice. “You can run errands with Gemma. It’ll keep you both from starting any fires.”

“I’ll make sure Pop gets up to the cabin.” The glare Opie leveled his father with suggested that was non-negotiable.

“Good.” Things would go a hell of a lot smoother without their resident shit-starters present. “Now we just need to find a way to hide the rest of our shipment.”

* * *

 

Stiles was going to make Jax pay for inflicting him with the torment that was running errands with Gemma. The matriarch was in an awful mood, snapping at him over every little thing, including playing with the radio. She wouldn’t even let him go into the pharmacy with her, not that he wanted to. He just didn’t like being left in the car like a dog.

“She didn’t even leave the window cracked.” He huffed and pushed open the passenger door to get some air.

While he waited for Gem, he kept himself entertained by watching a few kids skateboard up and down the block. He heard the bell from the pharmacy door chime at the same time one of the kids flubbed at trick on his board. Stiles barely noticed it, his gaze caught on the chick strolling up the sidewalk, the same girl who had been at the clubhouse earlier.

“Of course she would be here now.” Some of the clubs groupies just could not take _no_ for an answer.

“Skinny ass bitch.” Apparently, upon exiting the pharmacy, Gemma had spotted the girl as well.

“You wanna think before you act, Gem?” He asked as she snatched a runaway skateboard off the ground.

“That little tart fucked Clay in Nevada and then had the balls to show up here looking for something more.” She growled and tossed her purse at him.

“Oh. Well, carry on. I guess.”

Gemma didn’t hesitate to whack the ‘tart’ in the face with the skateboard. Stiles watched long enough to see the girl go down before he began rifling through Gemma’s bag to find her keys. He could already hear police sirens closing in as Gemma sat down on the curb, accepting her fate.

“You’ll need this.” He threw the purse over to her. “I’m taking the caddy. I’ll have Jax call the lawyer when I get back to the garage.”

“Don’t bother. Just go.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He didn’t have to be told twice.

He slammed the passenger door closed, slid over the console to the driver’s seat, and started the engine. He let himself enjoy it for a moment, he had never been allowed to drive the Cadillac, and he wanted to take full advantage. He was tempted to take the extra long way to the clubhouse, to see what the car could really do on the highway. He thought better of it when he remembered why he’d been banished to spend time with Gemma in the first place.

The raid was in full swing by the time he pulled into the lot. There were feds littering the property, stomping in and out of the clubhouse. The SAMCRO members in attendance were on the ground, lying on their stomachs, with their hands cuffed behind their backs. There were heavily armed agents standing guard, one in particular was impatiently pacing in front of the Sons, a tiny smirk playing on her lips, as if she were expecting good news.

“She’s the one in charge.” Stiles mumbled to himself as he parked the car. “Let’s go poke the bear.”

He climbed out of the caddy and shut the door as quietly as he could, so not to draw attention to himself. Jax was the first to spot him as he crossed the parking lot. The way his brother cringed and thumped his forehead against the pavement spoke volumes, as did the identical reaction from the others when they caught sight of him.

“There a problem, boys?” The blonde-haired woman wearing an ATF windbreaker grinned down at the Sons like she’d won some prize. “Are you finally realizing what will happen when we find all those guns you’ve got stashed away?’

“Excuse me,” Stiles took a calculated step in front of the woman, inserting himself between her and SAMCRO. “Who are you?”

“Agent Stahl, ATF.” She didn’t bother him with her credentials, chose to give him a scrutinizing once-over instead. “And you are?”

“He’s no one.” Jax interjected. “Just a nosy kid who works part time in the garage.”

“I’m Nathaniel.” That was about as much of his real name as he was willing to give her. “I assume you have a warrant for your little search. May I see it, please?”

“Of course.” She obediently handed over the slip of paper. “It’s all in order.”

Yeah, he doubted that, but he was smart enough not to say that aloud. He kept his mouth shut as he read over the document carefully. He noted a few things the club would have benefited from had they bothered looking over the warrant themselves.

“You’re looking for oil drums.” He read off the document. “Can I ask why? This is an automotive garage, it’s not a shock to think it would have oil in stock.”

“There was a truck in the Teller-Morrow parking lot this morning. The same truck was caught on a traffic camera in Indian Hills, Nevada last week. Both were full of oil drums.” Agent Stahl explained in a business-like manner. “The truck belonged to Unser Trucking. And the drums were stamped, Bosan Petroleum, Dungloe, Ireland.”

“So what?” Chibs grunted. “It’s not illegal to have oil.”

“It’s illegal to transport petroleum over state lines, nimrod.” Stiles was surrounded by idiots, he had to be.

“A+ for you.” Stahl praised. “Someone in this shithole has at least half a brain.”

“Yes, well, you’ll have to forgive my friends here. Even their combined IQ’s don’t reach the triple digits. I’m sure you and your team can relate, you’re obviously in same boat.” He eyed the agents with contempt. “If any of you knew how to read, you would know that you are currently conducting an illegal search.”

“They're what now?” Jax perked up.

“An illegal search.” Stahl narrowed her eyes. "How do you figure?"

“Well, when you came by earlier to take Clay in, you mentioned a phone call from your suspect to Teller-Morrow Garage. These oil drums were in the Teller-Morrow parking lot. Therefore, your warrant, as it states right here,” He used his finger to point out a section of the document. “Limits your search to the Teller-Morrow Garage. The clubhouse is a separate property, not covered by your warrant. You are conducting an illegal search, you need to cease and desist.”

“Oh, do I?” She was impressed, he could tell, but she was also very pissed off.

“The lawyer is already on his way.” Stiles lied and made a mental note to call the club attorney once he was finished with the ATF. “We’ll be assessing the damage done to the interior and exterior of the clubhouse. We’ll send the bill to your supervisor, along with a formal complaint about your failure to follow procedure.”

“Listen to me, you little bastard—“

“You’re already on thin ice, Agent Stahl. You really wanna dig yourself a deeper hole by threatening a minor?” A part of him almost hoped she would, he was having fun with this. “I suggest you pull your people out of the clubhouse, and move on to conduct your search in the garage.”

The agent looked as if she might argue or arrest him without cause, but ultimately decided to do as instructed and pull her people out of the clubhouse. It wasn’t until Stahl and the other agents were on the other side of the property that Stiles whipped around to stare down the club members still lying cuffed on the ground.

“So someone with a badge shows up, waving around a slip of paper they claim is a warrant, and you let them in without checking the validity of it?” He really wanted to know the thought process that led to that decision. “Always read the warrant. Always. Even if you have nothing to hide, you read the fucking warrant. I know at least one of you is capable of reading, so do it.”

“Yeah, yeah. We get it. Lesson learned.” Jax muttered irritably. “Now will you get the fuck out of here before that ATF bitch thinks of a reason to take you in.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Spending the rest of the day in an interrogation room or jail cell wasn’t his idea of a good time. “I’m going home. I’m taking the caddy.”

“Gemma will kill you for taking her car.”

“Gemma’s in jail on assault charges.” He didn’t have anything to worry about on that front. “I’d rather not be seen getting into my car with feds sniffing around. The last thing I need is for them to run my plates. I don’t want them harassing my dad because I outsmarted the ATF lady.”

“Wait, wait.” Jax stopped him. “You had Gemma arrested so you could take her car on a joyride?”

“Yes, Jackson, that’s exactly what I did.” He deadpanned, enjoying the look of abject horror mixed with his own unique brand of ‘ _why am I even surprised’_ cross over his brother’s face. “What are you, brain dead? I didn’t have her arrested. She did that all on her own after she clocked the Indian Hills sweetbutt with a skateboard.”

“Jesus Christ.”

* * *

 

Dean had worked many cases over the years, and he could say with absolute certainty, that the ones involving kids were always the worst. The current case, one of fairytales comes to life, was a special kind of hell. It was the first time they had found a vengeful spirit of a comatose girl rather than a dead body. It also marked the first time he and Sam were forced to talk a father into taking his daughter off life support so she could finally be at peace.

It was the right thing to do, Dean knew that, but it still left him feeling raw. He could rationalize it, tell himself that the girl was warping the fairytales her father read to her, using them to harm and kill innocent people. In the end, the reasons why it was the right decision didn’t matter.

Callie was still a little girl who was still very much alive in her father’s eyes, despite her condition. To Dr. Garrison, Dean and Sam would always be the people who convinced him that his daughter had to die. There was no way to spin it, it was a shitty situation all around.

“So,” Dr. Garrison sighed mournfully. “It’s really over.”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “All thanks to you.”

“Callie was the most important thing in my life.” The doctor bit back a sob. “But I should’ve let her go a long time ago.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see you around, Doc.” Dean awkwardly said his goodbyes, hoping to remove himself from the tense atmosphere.

“I sure hope not.” Dr. Garrison’s voice shook as he patted Dean on the shoulder and started off down the hall.

“You knew what he said,” Dean motioned to the doctor. “It’s some good advice.”

“Is that what you want me to do, Dean?” Sam questioned, tears welling in his eyes. “Just let you go?”

There was no response that wouldn’t lead to a fight, so Dean kept his answer to himself. He gazed at his brother for a long moment, wishing the kid would see things from his point of view, but he knew Sam never would. Deciding he did not want to plead his case with a brick wall for the hundredth time, he turned on his heels, having every intention of making a beeline for the hospital exit.

“Dean,” Sam wrapped a large hand around his bicep to keep him in place. “Look, um, it was a tough case involving a kid in the hospital. I’d understand if you wanted to go back to Charming and look in on Abel.”

“I want to.” He just didn’t think that was a good idea. “I want to see Abel and Jax, I do.”

“Okay. We’ll go to the motel and get our stuff—“

“I want to see them, but I can’t, Sam.” He could not keep running back to Charming whenever he missed Jax or the kid. “It’s getting harder to leave every time. And it’s not fair to Jax. We’ve spent more time together in the last month than we have in years. It’s changing things between us.”

“What things?”

“What Jax and I had, it was always fun. We just clicked. We got along and had crazy sex. We always cared about each other.” They had never defined their feelings for one another, they just accepted they were there and moved on. “It’s different now. The other night, Jax was talking about the future, about all the places he wanted _us_ to take Abel when he gets out of the hospital. And I couldn’t….”

“You couldn’t tell him that you might not have a future.” Sam concluded sadly.

“The more time I spend with Jax, the deeper into this we both get.” He and Jax had the potential to be something great, to have the kind of love that neither of them could ever dream of having. “I can’t keep going back and giving him false hope for a future we’re never going to have together.”

“You have to tell him the truth, Dean. Tell him about the deal.” Sam insisted. “He would understand why you made it, he has a little brother he’d do anything for too.”

“He would understand, but he would never accept it.” Jax would end up doing something rash and stupid in an effort to get him out of the deal. “He wouldn’t accept it anymore than you do.”

“If you don’t tell him, he’ll hate you when he does find out.”

“I’ll be dead, so he can hate me all he wants.” Regardless of the deal, Jax would hate him for having the poor sense to die. “It’ll be better that way. Hating me will help him move on.”

“Fine. Don’t tell him.” His brother grumbled. “But you can’t just cut him off and stop going to Charming all together. He’ll know something’s up and come find you, or Opie and Stiles will track us down so they can confront you.”

“I’m not going to cut him off.” He wouldn’t punish himself as well as Jax by cutting off all contact. “I’ve just got to limit my time in Charming to avoid Jax and me becoming something we can’t be.”

“You’re acting like you have a choice or something. You can’t help what you feel, Dean.” Sam reasoned meaningfully. “And you can’t change how he feels about you.”

“Yeah, I know.” He didn’t want to change how either of them felt, even if it would make things easier for Jax in the end. “I think I liked it better when you disapproved of my relationship with Jax because I was his mistress.”

“Well, that was before I saw the two of you together and realized it was more than that.”

“So now you approve?”

“I guess.” Sam shrugged. “I just don’t approve of you lying to him.”

“I know.”

* * *

 

Derek couldn’t begin to explain how it felt to have his father back in his life. There was a sense of security that came with knowing he still had a family, however small it was, but it could be stifling. He had barely had a moment to himself since the older man had reappeared in his life.

To rid himself of the feeling of being suffocated, he had taken to sneaking out of the motel early in the morning. He would retreat to his former home when he needed space, a place to breathe. He really should have known that the one place he could find a semblance of peace would be degraded eventually, more than it already was anyway.

He had been in the middle of his workout routine when Kate and two of her hunter friends had let themselves in. He’d hidden at first, not out of fear, but out of exhaustion. He wasn’t up for another confrontation. But Kate had baited him, taunted him about the way she had cut his sister in half until he couldn’t take it anymore and revealed himself.

He was strong, he could have taken the three hunters on if they hadn’t used tasers. The high voltage electric shocks put him to the floor instantly. He tried to crawl away but it was useless, Kate would just touch the taser to his skin once more and send him into a spasm, laughing as he withered on the rotted out floorboards.

“You never were good with electricity, were you? Or fire.” She observed, stepping over debris to get to him. “Which is why I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. And, well, maybe we can help each other out.”

A growl emitted from his throat at the very idea of them helping each other. There was nothing in the world that could convince him to work with her, not after what she had done to his family.

“Yes, your sister was severed into pieces and used as bait to try to catch you. Unpleasant, and frankly, a little too _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ for my taste, but quite true.” She crouched down beside him on the floor. “Now, here’s the part that might really kick you in the balls. We didn’t kill her.”

He didn't have to use his werewolf senses to know she wasn't being truthful. Cutting a wolf in half was a signature of the Argent family. They were the only hunters Derek had ever come across that showed their kills off like prizes to be won.

“You think I’m lying?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Derek was well aware of how Kate could spin a tale.

“Well,” She clucked her tongue. “Why don’t you just listen to my heart and tell me if I am. Okay? _We didn’t kill your sister.”_

His mind must have been playing tricks on him, because there was nothing to indicate she was being anything less than truthful. His senses were off or she had learned to keep her heartbeat steady.

“Did you hear that? There’s no blips or upticks. Just the steady beat of the cold, hard truth.” She straightened up, towering over him once more. “Found bite marks on your sister’s body, Derek. What do you think did that? A mountain lion? You might as well admit what you’ve been guessing all along, which is, the alpha killed your sister. All you have to do is tell us who he is, and we’ll take care of it for you.”

“And all you have to do is step away from that kid,” A firm male voice boomed throughout the house, startling them all. “Get the hell out of here before I put you all in the ground.”

“ _Singer_ ,” Kate spit the name out through gritted teeth. “I’m getting very tired of you showing up while I’m trying to work.”

“I’m done watching you hurt people I care about.” His father’s voice reverberated so loudly that even Derek couldn’t pinpoint his exact location inside the house. “I’ll give you one chance to grab your wounded and go.”

“What wounded?” Kate furrowed her brows in confusion.

The first shot rang out from the foyer within a second of the question leaving Kate’s mouth. One of her hunter friends cried out in agony, hitting the floor and gripping his knee. There was a single beat of stunned silence before the second shot was fired and the other man joined his friend on the floor with a brand new hole in his shoulder.

“I’ll be happy to put one of these in you, Kate.” Bobby told her, a deadly lit to his tone. “It won’t be a flesh wound this time. I’ll put one right between your eyes.”

“We've been over this, Bobby. You don’t kill humans.” She called his bluff. “You’re too noble for that.”

“Don’t be so sure.” His father declared as he stepped out of the shadows. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my son.”

The injured men both reached for their weapons, but Bobby was quicker. He disarmed them with little effort, kicking away bum-knee’s pistol, and snatching shoulder-wound’s shotgun up for himself. Kate didn't make a move to help her comrades, choosing to watch the show instead.

“You’ve been told to stay away from my boy.” The older man reminded her. “I won’t tell you again.”

“Your boy….” Kate cackled in delight. “Oh, that’s too good. I guess little Derek wasn’t the only wolf to enjoy sleeping with the enemy. Mommy Talia spread her legs for one too.”

Derek lunged for her without even realizing he was doing so. He didn’t get very far, she jabbed him with the taser before he could sink his claws into her flesh. She didn’t get away with the shock this time, not when Bobby had stalked over and slammed the barrel of the stolen shotgun into the side of her head, knocking her out cold.

“You all right, son?” He shifted the guns in his arms and offered Derek a hand.

“I’m fine.” He used his father’s grip to lever himself up to his feet.

“Go put them to sleep, pistol whip one of them with the others gun.” Bobby handed the pistol and shotgun off to him. “Make sure they give their guns back once their unconscious.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t think much on it, just did as he was told. He stomped his foot onto shoulder-wound’s head, and whacked bum-knee with the shotgun. Once they were both out, he returned their weapons, securing them in their grips. When he turned to face his father, he saw the older man had given the rifle he had brought in with him to Kate.

“Why are you leaving your gun with her?”

“It’s not mine. Her SUV’s parked a few miles out, at the end of the trail near the access road. I grabbed the rifle from her backseat.” Bobby muttered, as he made sure the gun was wedged tightly in her hands. “I wore gloves to keep my prints of it.”

“What’s the point of all this?” He didn’t understand why they had rendered them unconscious and returned their weapons.

“I wasn’t going to let her keep hurting you.” His dad kicked the taser away from Kate’s prone form. “This way, when the cops get here, these guys can say anything they want about who shot ‘em, the evidence will point to them doing it to each other. Even on the off chance it doesn’t, what are they going to say? They were trespassing on your land again with weapons that are illegal to have in the preserve. They were torturing you. There is nothing they can say that’ll paint them as the victims here.”

“Why didn’t you just kill them? Kill her?” That was all Derek wanted, it was what he needed to finally be able to put his family to rest once and for all. “It would have been over.”

“Every hunter allied with the Argents would come looking for retaliation. You would spend the rest of your life being hunted, and I won’t have that.” Bobby vowed as he slipped off his gloves. “We’re gonna make the Argents pay for that they did to your family. We will. We just have to be smart about it, son. You understand?”

“Yes.”

* * *

 

Gemma was willing to admit she took a special kind of pleasure in making Clay suffer by staying in lockup at Charming PD all night, but she was happy to be back at the clubhouse. She and Clay had shown up first, while the others trickled in shortly after, all but one.

“Where’s Piney?” The old man was the only Son unaccounted for.

“Up at the cabin. He wasn’t up for socializing after everything that went down with Meineke this morning.” Opie said somberly. “The guy was an asshole, but he still saved Pops ass in the war. They were still friends.”

“Yes, they were.” Bad blood or not, that wound would scar the elder Winston. “He’ll be okay, baby.”

“I know.”

“You hungry, Mom?” Jax asked, eyeing the kitchen door as if a fully prepared meal might walk out on its own.

“If you’re hinting at me making breakfast, the answer is no.” She was not in the mood to cook, and they were all grown men capable of feeding themselves. “I’m gonna go home, shower, and catch a few hours of shut eye in my own bed, before I head to those conferences tonight.”

“What conferences?” Clay inquired as his sipped his coffee.

“Stiles mentioned that his school is having parent-teacher meetings tonight.” The kid would probably smack himself once he found out she planned capitalize on that information. “I thought I’d go.”

“Why?” There was no lack of suspicion in her oldest son’s tone.

“It’ll be fun.” She would get to mess with John, and Stiles by proxy. “Plus, it’s one of the many duties of a parent. You’ll learn that when Abel’s in school.”

“You never went to any of my school conferences.”

“I went to every meeting with your school principal when you would get suspended for fighting.” She had been a fixture at Charming High when Jax had been a student, she’d actually been relieved when he dropped out. “Now where did your brother leave the keys to my car?”

“They’re with him and your car in Beacon Hills. Here’s the spare set for the Jeep.” Jax slid a set of keys across the bar. “You’ll have to trade cars up there.”

“He took my car? You let him take my car to Beacon Hills?” She should have seen that coming. “Little assholes, both of you.”

“Are you seriously going to drive the Jeep up there?” Opie questioned. “Do you even know how to drive it? It's not like driving the caddy.”

“You know that Jeep belonged to Johnny before Stiles, right?” She assumed they did, it was common knowledge.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I never screw in a car I wouldn’t be able to drive myself home in.” It was a safety precaution. If her date wasn’t up for operating heavy machinery once she was done with him, then she could take herself home. “So yes, I know how to drive the Jeep.”

“Whoa. Hold on,” Jax held up a hand. “Didn’t the story go, that Stiles was conceived in the men’s bathroom of the Buffalo Bar?”

“Yes.” To be in that dive, she and Johnny both had to be looking for trouble, and they found it in the bottom of a tequila bottle and then each other. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Stiles could only be conceived once.” Jax commented dumbly. “And you just implied that you and John banged in the Jeep too.”

“Did I?” It was a slip of the tongue. “Huh.”

“Something I need to know, baby?” Clay had already jumped to conclusions if the scowl on his face was anything to go by.

“Of course not, darling.” Gemma kissed his cheek to soothe his concerns. “I follow the rules we set for each other, unlike you.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask for that gash to come slinking around here.” Clay slammed his coffee mug down on the bar. “And I’m not the one whose prison clause baby is here every other fucking day, smacking me in the goddamn face.”

“Not my choice.” Although she enjoyed youngest son’s presence in Charming, she never regretted allowing him to live in Beacon Hills with his father. “That’s Jax’s doing, not mine.”

“Nice, Mom. I’ll make sure to tell Stiles how much you love him the next time I see him.” Jax remarked hotly. “She’s just screwing with you, Clay. She’s pissed about you and that chick, and wants to punish you by making you squirm.”

“What if she’s not?” Opie proposed, sounding scandalized. “Can you imagine what Stiles would do if he found out? He’s dead set on the idea that his dad wasn’t only drunk when he and Gemma hooked up, but also suffering from temporary insanity. The kid would implode if he thought they had done it more than once.”

“I’m gonna tell him.” Jax chortled excitedly, practically bouncing in his seat at the prospect of mentally traumatizing his brother.

“Don’t be an asshole.” Gemma scolded her oldest boy. “You leave your little brother alone.”

“Gemma,” Her husband said her name firmly to capture her attention. “If there’s something going on between you and Stilinski—“

“Like I said, I’ve never broken our rules.” She stood by her point as she snagged the Jeeps keys off the bar. “I’m heading out.”

“Oh, could you give this to Stiles?” Juice handed her a stack of papers held together by a paperclip. “He asked for it yesterday.”

“Sure.”

* * *

 

John had taken the day shift at work so he could have the evening off to attend the meeting at Stiles school. When he was finished at work, and pulled into his driveway at home, he did not expect to see the Cadillac as well as the Jeep parked in front of the house. Even more perplexing was entering his home to find Gemma puttering around the kitchen like she belonged there.

“Uh, hi.” He never felt so awkward in his own home as he did when his son’s other family suddenly appeared in his house without warning.

“Hi darling.” She grinned over her shoulder as she closed the dishwasher. “Good day at work?”

“Yeah….” Either he had stepped into an alternate universe at some point or something was about to go horribly wrong. “Did you come to pick up your car?”

“Among other things.” Things were definitely leaning toward horribly wrong.

“Is one of those other things doing Stiles chores for him?” It was his son’s job to do the dishes, not Gemma’s.

“I did that so he could get started on his homework.” She alleged, nodding toward the stairs that led to the bedrooms. “I think he’s spent more time yelling at his phone than he has actually doing his work.”

“Okay.” He would have to ask Stiles about that later. “So if you didn’t stay to load the dishwasher, then what are you doing here?”

“Parent-teacher conferences at the school tonight.”

“I’m aware of that.” The date was circled on the calendar pinned to the fridge. “I’m going to them. What’s that have to do with you?”

“I’m going with you.” She must have been out of her mind.

“I’m sorry?” He couldn’t possibly have heard that correctly.

“I’m going with you to the conferences.” She repeated slowly, so he wouldn’t misunderstand. “I’m one of his parents too.”

“Yeah. No. Um,” His kneejerk reaction was to say _since when_ but he did not have time for that argument tonight. “School conferences aren’t exactly your thing. How did you even find out about them?”

“Stiles told me.”

“Of course he did.” If his child had spilled the beans, he probably was not expecting this outcome. “I need to speak with my son, for just a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“Well, hurry up, we have to leave soon.”

“I know.” He was the one of them that was actually supposed to be there. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

He jogged up the stairs, hoping to get to the bottom of this situation as quickly as possible. Stiles was holed up in his bedroom, slumped over the desk, his head buried in his folded up arms.

“Hey,” He rapped his knuckles against the doorframe and watched his son nearly tip out of his chair, shocked by the loud noise in the otherwise quiet area. “You wanna tell me why Gemma is apparently accompanying me to your conferences tonight?”

“Oh, uh, I may have mentioned it yesterday. She made a comment about going then, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.” Stiles shrugged. “And you know, she had a bad day yesterday, so when she showed up today and said she was going, I didn’t see the harm.”

“I’m curious as to what constitutes as a bad day for Gemma.” Or rather what his son thought was awful enough to warrant being uncharacteristically sympathetic toward her.

“Well, when we were running errands she was bitching abut menopause, but I tuned most of that out.” The teenagers face twisted up in disgust. “And some girl Clay banged showed up, so Gemma whacked her with a skateboard, and spent the night in jail because of it.”

“You felt bad for her, which is good, I guess. It’s progress.” A few years or even months ago, Stiles would have laughed at her misfortune. “I’m just not sure why I’m paying for it.”

“Just bad luck, I guess.” Stiles smirked and glanced down at his phone. “Hey, I just got a weird text from Jax about you and Gemma screwing on more than one occasion.”

“Um….” He was at a loss for words, really. "I'm not sure how to respond to that."

“If he’s trying to mess with me, he should have thought of something believable.” Stiles dismissed his brother’s failed attempt at humor and deleted the message. “I mean, you’re not the kind of person who would make the same mistake twice, that’s why I’m your only child.”

“You were never a mistake, Stiles.” He hated when his son belittled himself like that. “You were a surprise.”

“I used to be a _wonderful_ surprise.” The kid pouted.

“Let’s wait until after the conferences to determine how wonderful you are.” He quipped lightheartedly. “Speaking of, am I gonna hear good news at this parent-teacher thing tonight?”

“Depends on how you define good news.” The hunch of Stiles shoulders was a good indicator of how he thought the conferences would go.

“I define it as you getting straight A’s with no behavioral issues.” One of those things was wishful thinking, but a man could dream.

“You might want to rethink that definition.” The teenager suggested bleakly. “About the behavioral issues anyway. My grades are good, or I’d have to go with you to this thing. The only class I don’t have an A in is chemistry.”

“Enough said.” Harris taught chemistry and tended to grade Stiles unfairly. He couldn’t get away with failing him, but refused to mark him higher than a B. “Did you printout your grades from the chemistry class you’ve been taking at the community college?”

“Yeah.” Stiles grabbed the paper from the printer and relinquished them to his father. “You gonna rub it in Harris’s face that you know he’s full of shit when he grades me?”

“I was thinking about it.” The only reason his son was taking the extra class was because he thought Harris would find a way to fail him at the end of the semester. He wanted proof that he knew the work, and he wanted the credit so he wouldn’t have to repeat Harris’s class next year. “And I’m gonna show it to your principal, have them put a copy in your file.”

“I don’t know what good that’s going to do. The principal doesn’t care either.” Stiles had learned in grade school that succeeding in academics in Beacon Hills had nothing to do with how smart you were. “I heard the Whittemores donated a hefty sum to buy new equipment for the gym, and the Martins wrote a check to expand the library. The principal will be kissing their asses all night, ignoring every ‘concerned’ parent that crosses his path.”

“Yeah, I know how your school operates.” The children whose parents could contribute most to the school were considered high priority, while the other kids were nuisances who couldn’t possibly amount to anything. “One of the biggest downsides of living in a wealthy town.”

“You could always move back to Charming.” Gemma chimed in as she came to stand beside him. “You wouldn’t have those kind of problems there.”

“No, we would have an entirely new set of problems.” Instead of unethical teaching practices, they would be dealing with the violence that followed the Sons of Anarchy. “We’ll stay here, thanks.”

“Have it your way.” The older woman maneuvered around him to drop a bundle of papers on Stiles desk. “Juice asked me to give those to you.”

“Awesome. Thanks.” Stiles eagerly flipped through the documents.

“You should give Piney a call.” Gemma advised the teenager. “An old friend of his from the war died in an explosion this morning. It was some kind of freak accident. Piney’s been up at the cabin brooding since he found out. Someone should probably check on him.”

“I’ll take him dinner. He’ll need some food to soak up all the whiskey.” Stiles murmured darkly. “Is that okay, Pop? I won’t stay all night. I’ll just be up there a few hours.”

“It’s fine.” His son would go either way if he thought Piney needed him. “Be careful on the drive up, those mountain roads aren’t well lit at night.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.” Stiles assured him. “You two, uh, have fun at that conference.”

“Oh yeah.” _Fun_ was not the first word that came to mind when he thought about the school conferences, and that was before Gemma invited herself along. “It should be an interesting night.”

“Just try to keep your gun holstered, and uh,” His gaze flickered momentarily to Gemma. “Keep her away from the skateboards.”

“I’ll do my best.”

* * *

 

Dean could only drive for so long before he had to pull off to a motel so he and Sam could have a meal and get a few hours shuteye. After checking in, he sent his brother out on a food run, while he took a few moments to decompress. He thought about calling Jax, knowing if anyone could relax him, it was the biker. The only thing that stopped him from making the call was his plan to ease his way out of his relationship with Jax over his remaining few months.

“Damn it.” He dropped his cellphone onto the dresser and flinched when it immediately began ringing. He grudgingly snatched the device up and brought it up to his ear. “Hello?”

 _“Dean, it’s Derek.”_ The wolf’s gruff voice filtered over the line.

“What’s wrong?” They had never spoken on the phone before, and he figured the sky had to be falling if the kid was calling him out of his own free will.

 _“Kate Argent came after me this morning.”_ Derek told him. _“I was at my house working out when she showed up with two of her friends.”_

“Are you all right?” Bobby had been worried about the Argents going after Derek while he was off on his own.

 _“I’m fine.”_ He snapped impatiently, aggravated by Dean’s concern for his wellbeing. _“Dad came out of nowhere before they could do any real damage.”_

“You’re not exactly stealthy when you sneak out in the morning. He follows you to make sure your safe.” Dean’s own father used to do the same thing on the rare instance when he or Sam would go on school field trips, or during Dean’s first solo hunts. “Is he okay?”

 _“He just made himself a bigger target to them. He wounded the two guys with Kate, and told her he was my father.”_ Those actions could have serious repercussions. _“You have to make him go back to Sioux Falls.”_

“We talked about this, kid.” He thought the wolf had understood. “Bobby will not go back to Sioux Falls, not without you.”

_“He will if you give him a reason to.”_

“Nothing I say will get him to leave you, especially when he knows you’re in danger.” Dean was not about to lie to Bobby to get him to retreat from Beacon Hills. “He will not leave you, not again. You’re just gonna have to accept that.”

 _“If he stays, they’ll kill him.”_ Derek argued desperately.

“They’ll try.” He highly doubted the Argents would be successful in that endeavor. “Your dad is tough. He can take care of himself and he can take care of you.”

_“I don’t need him to take care of me.”_

“Yeah, you do.” The fact that he thought he didn’t was enough to show how much he really did. “He is the only family you really have left, so you don’t want to put him in danger. I get that. But it’s not your choice, it’s his. And you’re his kid, there is nothing in the world that’ll keep him out of this fight. Instead of trying to push him out of it, maybe you should start working with him.”

 _“I don’t…I don’t know how to do that.”_ Derek admitted sullenly. _“Laura always did things on her own, tried to keep me out of it.”_

“Sometimes working on your own is necessary.” Dean would be a hypocrite if he thought differently. “This isn’t one of those times. You need help. You need a pack. Bobby, Sam, and I may not be werewolves, but we’re what you’ve got. Stop fighting us. Let us help.”

_“I’ll try.”_

* * *

 

Gemma tagging along to the school conference was a recipe for disaster, or so John had thought. He was blessedly surprised when they made it through the first two meetings with no fireworks. Of course, all good things must come to an end and theirs came in the form of the chemistry teacher.

“This is a conference reserved for parents and teachers, Mr. Stilinski.” Harris started in on them the moment they walked through the door. “Dates are not permitted.”

“I’m not his date.” Gemma informed the teacher as they each took a seat. “I’m Stiles mother, Gemma Teller-Morrow.”

“The last woman to introduce herself to me as Stiles mother was quite a bit younger and went by a different name.” Harris did not mince words when scrutinizing Gemma. “She’s also been dead for several years. You cannot possibly be her.”

“I’m his _biological_ mother.” She clarified but otherwise held her tongue.

“Of course you are.” Harris snorted derisively and turned his focus to the notepad in his hands. “I don’t think there is anything I can say about Stiles that I have not said in previous meetings.”

“Why don’t you give it a try?” John was not going to suffer through the conferences for nothing. “You can explain to me why Stiles is getting high marks in his advanced chemistry class at the community college, but barely makes a B+ in your mediocre high school class.”

“Your son is willfully defiant and refuses to listen to instruction.” Harris commented bitterly. “I am not going to reward him for poor behavior.”

“So, what you’re knocking points off his tests and homework, because he has an attitude problem?” Gemma glowered at the teacher. “Do they dock your pay for being a shitty teacher?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you little prick.”

“I implore you to adjust your attitude, Mrs. Teller-Morrow.” The teacher sneered and turned his narrowed eyes to John. “Mr. Stilinski, I advise you to expand your taste in women. Your former wife had a quick temper as well, if I remember correctly.”

“My wife would have decked you when she realized you weren’t grading our son fairly.” Claudia’s temper did not flare easily, but when it had the poor bastard on the receiving end would forever regret pissing her off.

“I grade the way I see fit. There is nothing unfair about it.” Harris set his notepad aside and folded his hands over his lap. “Your son is an insolent spoiled brat.”

“He’s a teenager.” Gemma reminded the other man. “They’re supposed to be angst ridden assholes. They grow up, they get over it. Most of them do anyway.”

“I expect my students to be respectful.”

“They are not going to respect you if you don’t respect them.” John’s son in particular did not play nice with someone who treated him and his peers like dirt. “If you don’t know that then you are in the wrong line of work.”

“Children need to respect authority figures.” Harris barked, his irritated yet calm composure faltering. “If they want my respect, they must earn it.”

“But you don’t have to earn their respect? You think treating them like crap is going to get them to act like good boys and girls?” Gemma scoffed. “You must have been smacked pretty good with the stupid stick when you were born.”

“You need to step out, Mrs. Teller-Morrow.” Harris instructed the older woman.

“Do I?” She hunkered down in her chair defiantly. “I am staying right here until you agree to begin grading my kid based on his academic merit and not the attitude that you seem to bring out in people.”

“I can have you removed from the premises.” The teacher threatened.

“By who?” John cocked his head to the side inquisitively. “The school doesn’t employ security guards and I doubt you have the stones to throw her out yourself.”

“You know, this meeting has shed a light on why Stiles has such a bad attitude problem. He obviously picked it up from the two of you.” Harris gestured between them. “I expected better from our local sheriff, although I’m not sure why.”

“I raised my son to treat others how he would like to be treated.” Stiles tried to give mean spirited folks at least two chances before he treated them the same way they treated others.

“I taught him that allowing people to walk all over him was unacceptable.” Gemma added what she had contributed to their son’s upbringing. “He split the difference.”

“Well, I will continue to grade your son as I have been, subtracting points from his work, until his behavioral issues are resolved, or he finally decides to drop out school.” Harris stood his ground. “Whichever comes first. The latter is more likely than the former.”

“Okay. You know what,” John was past done with the chemistry teacher’s bullshit. He had put up with it long enough. “You—“

“Take a walk, Johnny.” Gemma ordered curtly, cutting off the rant he was more than ready to release on Harris. “ _This_ is more my expertise than yours.”

“Right.” That wasn’t quite true but he wasn’t going to argue with her. “I suddenly have to use the restroom. Excuse me.”

John left Harris to Gemma’s mercy and removed himself from the classroom, closing the door behind him. He leaned against a row of lockers, resigning himself to waiting them out. It wasn’t long before Scott’s mother joined him.

“There’s a funny rumor going around this shindig that you’ve remarried.” Melissa mentioned conversationally. “Congratulations. From the descriptions I’ve heard about your new bride, I gotta say she sounds awfully familiar.”

“Gemma.” Married to Gemma, that was terrifying on so many levels. “That’s not even remotely funny.”

“Hazards of bringing her with you to _parent_ -teacher conferences.” Melissa pointed out. “People see you with a woman who is boasting about being your son’s mother, and they are going to make assumptions.”

“Bringing her was not my idea.” He could not be held accountable for that. “She invited herself.”

“Where is she, anyway?”

“Teaching Mr. Harris a lesson.”

As if his voice summoned her, the door to the chemistry room swung open and Gemma stepped into the hall. John and Melissa glanced around her into the classroom to see Harris backed up against the whiteboard, rubbing his throat, and breathing heavily.

“We had a difference of opinion.” Gemma explained in response to Melissa’s questioning look. “I think he’s seen the error of his ways.”

“Oh. Good.” Melissa nodded cordially. “’Cause I’ve got him next.”

“Have fun.” John encouraged as she trudged into the room. “Since when is dealing with Stiles teachers more your expertise than mine, Gemma?’

“You are the sheriff. You’re held to a different standard than the other parents. You have to act a certain way.” She reasoned pragmatically. “Going off on a teacher, even a dick like Harris, wouldn’t look good.”

“That’s true.” In her own way, she had done him a favor. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Which teacher is next?”

“Coach Finstock.” Which was far more daunting than any other meeting they’d had tonight.

Honestly, the walk to Finstock’s office felt like a journey to crazy town in the same way the conference with Harris had felt like a trip to the guillotine. It didn’t help the parents exiting the office looked as if they had just survived a tornado. John took a deep breath to prepare for the onslaught the coach surely had for him, as he and Gemma made their way into the small room and took their seats.

“Which kid is yours?” Finstock asked, not bothering to look up at them as sifted through a pile of files on his desk.

“Stiles.”

“Stiles?”

“Stiles, that’s right.” His son was the only student at BHHS to bear that name, so he wasn’t sure where the coach’s confusion was coming from.

“I don’t have a _Stiles_.” Finstock said as he came up empty in his search of the folders. “I thought Stiles was his last name.”

“His last name is Stilinski.” Gemma reported, her tone suggesting Finstock was a special kind of idiot.

“You named your kid _Stiles Stilinski_?” The coach questioned quizzically.

“No.” John could have sworn he had this conversation with one of his son’s teachers every year. “That’s just what he likes to be called.”

“Well, I like to be called _Cupcake_.” Finstock blurted out offhandedly. “What is his first name?”

John scoured the folders on the desk until he found the correct one. Mieczysław Nathaniel Stilinski’s file was sitting near the top of the stack, almost hidden beneath another students folder. He tapped his finger against it to bring it to the coach’s attention.

“Wow, that’s a form of child abuse.” Finstock picked the file up to get a better look. “I don’t even know how to pronounce the first part of that.”

“It was his mother’s father’s name.” Both parts of the first name were to honor Claudia and Gemma’s fathers.

“Wow. You must really love your wife.” Finstock chuckled, glancing up at Gemma.

“Yeah, I did.” He confessed before tracking Finstock’s line of sight and catching on to just who he was referring to. “Oh, _no_. No, no, no.”

“Yes. Yes, he does.” Gemma smiled sweetly and slipped her hand into his. “But for the record, my father’s name is only the second part of that name, the Nathaniel. It used to be his only first name. Johnny changed it to accommodate his other wife, adding her father’s name as well.”

“His other wife?” The coach arched a brow.

“Great.” John accepted defeat and sunk down in his chair. “Now, not only will people assume that I’m married to _you_ , but they’ll think that I’m a bigamist too.”

“Lighten up, Johnny. It’s not a big deal. People will think what they want to think.” She squeezed his hand comfortingly. “Hell, my husband thinks you and I are having an illicit affair.”

“Why would he even—“ That had to relate to the odd text Stiles had received from Jax earlier. “Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“You have another husband?” Finstock’s eyes darted wildly between them. “As in more than one?”

“Yes. Yes, she does.” A shit-eating grin crept on to John’s face. “She’s got at least two others that I know of, not to mention a harem of men-- that she calls a club, who pant after her like dogs. A few of them are nearly as young as our son.”

“Wow.” Finstock scratched the side of his head with a pen. “Meeting the two of you sure explains a lot about Stiles.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.” Unfortunately, he couldn’t disagree with the assessment. “Hey. What do you say we get to the conference part of this conference, Cupcake?”

“I like your thinking.” The coach flipped open the file in his hands. “So Stiles. Great Kid. Zero ability to focus. Super smart. Never takes advantage of his talents.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, for the final question on his midterm exam, he detailed the entire history of the male circumcision.” Finstock revealed gently, as if he were trying to cushion the blow.

“Well, I mean,” John steadfastly ignored the judgmental side-eye he was receiving from Gemma as he came to his son’s defense. ”It does have historical significance, right?”

“I teach economics.” Why was that not surprising?

“Ah crap.” He didn’t know why he expected any different.

“Really?” The heavy dose of disbelief in Gemma’s voice was not something John was used to hearing in regards to their son. It was pretty much anything goes with Stiles.

“He gets this behavior from her.” John tried not to blame Gemma for much when it came to Stiles, he was the one who raised him after all, but in this instance, he was willing to make an exception.

“Nope.” Gemma shook her head in vigorous denial. “You’re not putting that one on me, sweetheart. That is a Stilinski thing.”

“It’s a Stiles thing, _honey_.” He remarked coolly. “And just strange enough to spring from the Madock side of his bloodline.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m an economics teacher and lacrosse coach.” Finstock drummed his fingers on the desk. “Not a couple’s counselor. Take your domestic dispute outside.”

“Yeah. We’re going.”

* * *

 

Stiles had been accused of being a mother hen on multiple occasions. It never really bothered him. It wasn’t his fault. He had been raised around a club of men who were basically overgrown children incapable of caring for themselves. Piney was the only exception, but even he could use some help once in a while, and Stiles was happy pick up the slack.

“It’s almost ready, Uncle Piney,” He announced as he stirred around the stew. “It’s not going to be as good as it usually is. I like to let it cook all day, but I didn’t have time to do that today.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Piney said as he settled down at the kitchen table. “You know, I can cook my own meals.”

“I know you can.” Just because he could cook doesn’t mean he would. “I don’t mind.”

“Is that your Grandpa Henry’s stew recipe?” The old man sniffed the air like he could tell from the scent alone.

“Yes, it is.” It was a special secret Stilinski family recipe. Stiles had to take a blood oath before his dad would even teach him how to make it.

“Your aunt Clara always made it better than your grandfather.”

“Aunt Clara also used to sleep with you, so I think you’re a bit biased.”  His grandfather’s older sister and Piney had been an item in high school, Stiles wasn’t surprised the old man would favor her over Henry.

“That might be true.” Piney smirked. “Do I get the leftovers?”

“Most of them. I’ve gotta take a bowl back to Pop.” His father must have sensed someone speaking about him, if his name suddenly flashing on the caller ID of Stiles cellphone meant anything. “Hey Dad.”

 _“History of the male circumcision, Stiles?”_ His father started conversations in the oddest ways sometimes. _“You wrote an essay, for a final, on the history of the male circumcision?”_

“What? It’s got historical value.” It had _history_ write in the title. “What’s the problem?”

 _“You wrote it for economics.”_ His dad muttered with a long-suffering sigh.

“I did?” Well, fuck. “My history teacher might have the essay that goes with my economics final. I took a lot of finals that day. I must have gotten mixed up.”

 _“Your history teacher had your essay for English. Your English teacher had your economics essay.”_ His dad told him. _“Gemma and I spoke to your teachers. We were going to convince them to switch your essays out, but I guess they already had, that’s why you didn’t get a failing grade on your finals.”_

“Oh. Well, then it all worked out.” His teachers apparently knew his quirks well enough to swap his essays without prompting. “Does that mean you guys are all done with the conferences?”

_“Yeah, we’re gonna head out in a minute. You gonna be home soon?”_

“I just finished making dinner.” He wanted to eat and make sure Piney did before he got back on the road. “It’s gonna be a few more hours.”

_“All right. I’ll see you in a few hours, son.”_

“Yep. See ya.”

Stiles pocketed his phone and reached over to turn the stove off. He used the metal ladle to dish out the stew, and carefully carried the two bowls over to the table, setting them down beside the miscellaneous papers, books, and photographs scattered across it.

“I guess we should have cleaned up first.” Stiles shoved some of the clutter aside to make room as he sat down. “What’s with all the pictures anyway? You taking a trip down memory lane?”

“Something like that. They’re just some photos from my military days.” The old man picked up one from the pile and displayed it for him. “Your grandpa Henry and I with our old unit.”

“Look how young you guys were.” He had never seen Piney without his wrinkles and silver hair. His grandfather on the other hand, was always the dark haired, amber-eyed man in his pictures. He didn’t live long enough to become an old man.

“Well, I wasn’t born old, kiddo.” Piney chuckled and set the photo back down. “I found that picture earlier and couldn’t believe how much you and your grandpa look alike.”

“Must skip a generation.” Stiles had inherited a number of his grandfather’s features, while his dad got his sandy hair and blue eyes from the other side of their family. “And you all used to say I looked like Gemma.”

“When you were little you did. You started growing up and the Stilinski genes took over.” The old man smiled approvingly. “You still got a lot of Gemma in you, personality wise.”

“I didn’t make you dinner so you could insult me.” He had half a mind to take the stew away as punishment for the jab.

“You are very good at keeping secrets, like Gemma is. There are things you would take to your grave, if you thought it was best for your family.” Piney pushed his bowl away and focused solely on Stiles. “Some secrets sit heavier than others.”

“Yeah, so?” He was sure the old man had a point, but chances are he wouldn’t want to hear it.

“So,” The old man grabbed one of the tattered books Stiles had brought along and waved it in the air. “You wanna tell me why you’re carrying around books about demons?”

“Curiosity.” He had always been an inquisitive kid that had to know everything about anything. “Sam and Dean let me borrow the book so I could learn a few things.”

“Dean’s always had this rule about keeping you from getting too deep into their supernatural crap. Vengeful spirits and werewolves are one thing. Demons are a line he wouldn’t cross with you.” Piney dropped the book forcibly on the stack of others. “If he is asking you for help researching something he never wanted you to know about, then something is very wrong. You need to tell me.”

“I can’t.” It killed him to say that. He trusted Piney with just about everything. “It’s not because he made me promise not to. The only person he made me promise not to tell is Jax.”

“Then what is it?”

“I asked you once to keep a secret for me that you could never tell anyone. You’ve kept that promise all these years.” He could never know how much that meant to him. “I was too young to realize what a burden that was, what kind of pressure I had put on you. It wasn’t fair of me. If I told you why Sam and Dean want my help, then I’ll have to ask you to make that promise again and I don’t want to do that.”  

“You gotta tell someone, son.” Piney acknowledged thoughtfully.

“I told my dad.” He couldn’t keep Dean’s secret all on his own. “And I can talk to Sam and Bobby about it if I need to. I’m not keeping it to myself.”

“But Dean doesn’t want Jax to know.” Piney took a moment to consider what that meant. “How bad off is Jax going to be when he does find out?”

“It’s gonna destroy him.” Stiles had no idea how Jax would recover from it. “That’s why Dean told me. He wants me to be prepared to take care of Jax. I’m just not sure how to help Jax when it’s done.”

“You’ve always helped him the most just by being there.”

“I don’t think that’ll be enough this time.” He mumbled to himself before nearly jumping out of his skin when his phone shrilled in his pocket.

“You’re popular tonight.” Piney commented while Stiles retrieved the device. “And skittish.”

“I’ve had that ‘something bad is going to happen’ feeling in the pit of my stomach all day.” Seeing a certain someone’s name on his phone’s screen as he answered did not quell his anxiety. “Gemma?”

 _“The first thing you need to know is that your father is fine.”_ The woman’s calm voice greeted him on the other line.

“Not a good way to start a conversation.” Fear ratcheted up his spine. “What happened to my dad?”

 _“He was in a minor accident, but it’s fine. I promise it’s all fine.”_ Her attempt to soothe his fears was belied by the word _accident_ in her initial statement. “ _He’s okay. It’s not serious.”_

“Is he at Beacon Hills Memorial?” Stiles shot to his feet and practically ripped his keys out of his pocket.

 _“Stiles, there is no need to rush back. It’s just scrapes and bruises.”_ Her diagnoses of his father’s injuries did nothing to make him feel better. _“The doctors will probably take some x-rays and release him.”_

“I’ll be there in an hour. Don’t let them release him until I get there.” He ended the call before she could protest. “Uncle Piney, I-I have to go.”

“Hey, hey,” The old man grabbed his shaking hands and took his keys. “I’ll drive you. Okay? Come on.”

“O-Okay.”

* * *

 

Gemma had spent a considerable amount of time at Beacon Hills Memorial for someone who didn’t actually live in the small town. She always tried to be there if John or Stiles were hurt, even if it annoyed them. She had to be sure they were all right, needed to see they were okay with her own two eyes.

The waiting room was not usually so full when John was the one hospitalized. Normally, it was Stiles and herself, and maybe Jax if he was not otherwise detained. This time Piney had accompanied Stiles to the hospital, while Bobby Singer and his kid had filtered in soon after. Jax was the last to arrive, stalking off the elevator, looking ready to rundown anyone who got between him and those he was there to see.

“How’s John?” Her eldest son asked as he joined them in the small waiting area.

“He’s fine. It’s a few bumps and bruises, his ribs took the brunt of it.” It was nothing life threatening or serious. “The doctors were going to release him, but Stiles convinced them to keep him overnight for observation. He was close to a panic attack so John agreed without complaint.”

“Of course he did.” Jax wouldn’t expect anything less. “What are Bobby and Derek doing here?”

“We came to find out what happened at the school.” Bobby answered for himself, rather than allowing Gemma to do it for him.

“What did happen?” Jax posed the question to no one in particular.

“The conferences were over and everyone was heading to their cars. All the sudden, a couple folks started shouting.” She hadn’t thought much of it until she saw what the commotion was about. “There was a goddamn mountain lion running around the parking lot.”

“A mountain lion?”

“It wasn’t hurting anyone. It was kind of lethargic, actually. The real freak out began after that Argent guy whipped out his gun and started shooting.” Gemma hadn’t known who the guy was at the time, but had since been informed. “People were trying to get the hell out of dodge to avoid being mauled or shot. John went to deal with it and someone backed into him with their car.”

“A mountain lion is how the town rationalizes all the animal attacks. Just last night one supposedly wandered into a video store and killed the clerk.” Bobby commented ruefully. “Gemma, you said the mountain lion was lethargic. You think it could have been drugged?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Thinking about it now, the poor creature moved like it was coming out of sedation. “Why?”

“Part of a hunter’s job is to keep the supernatural a secret. If someone starts to suspect anything close to the truth, we give them a plausible alternative.” The hunter explained. “A mountain lion stumbles through the parking lot of a high school, just as everyone is leaving, and Argent jumps in to save the day just in time. It’s awfully convenient.”

“You think the Argents released the mountain lion.” Jax deduced. “It makes sense. It throws suspicion off anything else and paints him as a hero.”

“In my opinion, it’s too coincidental for it not to be the Argents.” Bobby stated critically.

“Yeah, well, I’ll take care of them.” Jax declared wrathfully.

“No.” Derek darted up from the block of chairs. “The Argents are mi—“

“You had your chance.” Jax shoved a hand to Derek’s shoulder, forcing him back into his seat. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Boys,” Piney interrupted the argument that was sure to follow if they were allowed to continue. “This isn’t the time or place.”

“Where is Stiles?” Jax’s eyes searched the surrounded area for his brother.

“In with his daddy.” Gemma motioned down the hall. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

She led her son down the corridor to the hospital room the Stilinski’s were currently taking up residence in. John was resting comfortably in bed, while Stiles was curled up in a chair he had pushed up next to the gurney, his head lying on the mattress beside his father.

“He’s asleep.” John whispered, caressing a hand through his son’s hair.

“Yeah.” Jax nodded sadly. “I’ll be back.”

“Be careful.” Gemma urged her oldest boy.

“Always.”

As Jax took his leave, Gemma moved into the hospital room. She adjusted the blankets on John’s bed, but held back from fluffing his pillows when he rolled his eyes at her doting.

“How you feeling?” She stroked her knuckles against his cheek.

“I’m fine.” He murmured, leaning into her touch. “Despite what my son may believe.”

“He’s just worried about you, sweetheart.” When Stiles worried, he had a tendency to overreact.

“I know.” He sighed at glanced down at their son. “He was worried about you too, in his own way. That’s why he didn’t give you any crap about going to the conferences.”

“Oh really? What did he tell you?” Their boy kept his fair share of secrets, but if he were ever to tell one, it’d be to his father.

“One I won’t mention out of fear of bodily harm.” He admitted wryly. “The other was about Clay and why you spent last night in jail.”

“Clay’s dick went on a cheerleader hunt.” It wasn’t something John needed to concern himself with. “It’s not the first time and won’t be the last. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

“You did hit the girl with a skateboard. You were obviously upset about it.” John reasoned sympathetically. “It’s rare to see you visibly upset about something like that. That’s why it worried him.”

“And you feel the need to bring this up because…?”

“Because Clay’s a prick.” He said bluntly. ”You deserve better.”

“You are the only person in the world who believes that.” She leaned over the bed to press her lips to his cheek. "Thank you, darling."

* * *

 

Jax didn’t believe in ESP or telepathy or anything like that, but he couldn’t deny how he and Stiles always seemed to know when the other was in trouble. Hell, he had been well on his way to Beacon Hills before he had even gotten the panicked call from the kid about John being injured. He had hopped on his bike after feeling an inexplicable pull toward his baby brother that he could not ignore.

Tha feeling did not just go away once he saw that Stiles and John were safe and sound. It stuck with him, sometimes for days afterward. There were certain times when the only thing that could make that feeling disappear was ensuring that whatever or whoever caused his baby brother pain could never do it again. That was why he had gone to the Argent house.

Until now, he had let Bobby and the Winchesters take the lead on the Beacon Hills werewolf and hunter problem. Things were different now, though. A member of _his_ family had been hurt and he was not going to let the people responsible get away with it.

A part of him wanted to break into the house, threaten the family where they felt safest, but he also didn’t want to be shot or arrested. He settled for banging on the front door as loudly as possible to wake the home’s occupants. He considered it a great success when an older man angrily wrenched the door open.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” The man sneered.

“Yeah, I do.” It was after midnight. “If you’d like to get back to bed, back to your family, then you’ll talk to me, Mr. Argent.”

“ _Sons of Anarchy_ ,” Argent read the patch on his kutte. “I’ve never had any business with a motorcycle club.”

“You do now.” The guy might now have known who he was declaring war on but he certainly would once Jax was done with him. “You know, I’ve heard about your family. You torture and kill innocent werewolves, because you believe they don’t deserve to exist. I didn’t think you’d be so reckless with human life, they are the ones your little code claims to protect.”

“Who the hell are you?” Argent stepped out of the house, closing the door.

“Maybe this is a conversation best had in private.” Jax suggested, not wanting to have this out on the man’s front porch. “Something tells me you don’t want your neighbors to know your dirty secrets.”

“Over here.”

The hunter led him to the attached garage at the side of the house. Inside, alongside the SUV, were several rows of metal shelves encasing a number of high-end guns. The choice in location was a power play if Jax had ever seen one. However, if the guy expected him to be intimated, he set himself up for disappointment.

“Now what dirty secrets do you think I have?” Argent pointedly stood in front of his weapons cache and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You released a goddamn mountain lion in a school parking lot that was full of parents.” That was just one of the offenses Jax knew Argent and his family were guilty of, and the only one that mattered at the moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The hunter calmly dismissed the claim. “My daughter attends that school. I was there for the parent-teacher conferences, just like everyone else.”

“I didn’t realize that parents went to school conferences armed.” He was fairly certain it was illegal for anyone beyond law enforcement to carry weapons on school property. “Schools aren’t as safe as they were when I was kid, I know that. And I guess policies on buying guns have gotten pretty lax too. They must not be doing thorough enough background checks. I mean, they let you buy one and you obviously have a few screws loose, or you’re just a fucking idiot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You opened fire in a crowd of people, asshole.” Only someone lacking any brains at all would do something like that, unless they were looking to do damage to innocent bystanders. “You caused a panic.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but there have been a number of mountain lion attacks in the area, resulting in several fatalities.” Argent reported curtly. “When I saw one stalking the parking lot, I felt it was my duty to subdue it before it could hurt anyone. I was protecting those people from a dangerous animal.”

“Protecting them from a dangerous animal that you released.” What he said to Bobby in the hospital was correct, Argent just wanted to play hero. “My kid brother’s father was injured during your little demonstration.”

“The only person who was injured was Sheriff Stilinski.” The hunter replied indifferently. “That was nothing more than an accident. The driver wasn’t watching where they were going. That’s not my fault.”

“They were freaked and trying to get out of the parking lot as quickly as possible, because there was a mountain lion and some psycho with a gun.” Both of which were the hunter’s fault. “Now, you can keep playing dumb, acting like you got no idea what I’m talking about. I don’t care. It doesn’t change how this is going to play out.”

“And how is it going to play out?” Argent quirked a brow, seeming more amused by Jax than threatened.

“I think you and your family have overstayed your welcome in Beacon Hills.” Jax decided and had no intention of letting the hunter have a choice in the matter. “You know, I’m a nice guy, so I’m not gonna make you leave tonight.”

“You’re not going to make us leave at all.”

“No, I am.” He would make damn sure they left one way or another. “You got a kid in school, and transferring takes a minute, so I’ll give you a week to find a new town to terrorize.”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are—“

“I’m the person who is going to be parked outside your house, with the rest of my club, at the end of the week if you’re not gone.” He stepped into Argent’s space until they were nose-to-nose. “I’ll be happy to show you to the county line, if you can’t find it yourself.”

“You think your little patch makes you invincible, untouchable by law or man. It doesn’t.” That was a funny assessment coming from someone who justified mass-murder with a code he didn’t follow. “You cannot force me or my family out. This is our home now. We’ll stay as long as we like.”

“You’ll go, because you don’t want your entire family to end up on a missing persons list.” Jax wouldn’t eliminate the man’s entire family unless he had to, but Argent didn’t know that. “We have a rule about not harming women and children, but exceptions can always be made.”

“Do not threaten my family.” Argent snarled, hands coming up to grasp a two handful of Jax’s kutte, trying to push him away.

Jax remained steady, didn’t budge when Argent shoved him. He slammed a hard fist into the older man’s gut and pinned him against one of the shelves with forearm against his throat.

“You put _my_ family in danger,” Whether it was intentional or not was irrelevant. “I will do what have I to do to keep them safe. If that means putting your family down, I’ll do it. Your daughter, your wife, they’ll be quick, maybe a bullet to the head. You I’m gonna lock in a room with a pissed off mountain lion, let it tear you to pieces. And your pyro sister? I’m gonna hand her over to a friend of mine, let him initiate his own brand of retaliation for what she did to a family he cared for.”

“I can call the police and file a report. You’ve threatened my family’s lives.” Argent lied, there was no way someone like him would go through official channels for something like this.

“You could, but when they interrogated me, I would tell them exactly why I threatened you.” The deputies wouldn’t be too receptive to Argent’s plight when they learned he was responsible for the shitshow at the school. “You captured a mountain lion from a wildlife preserve, released it in a crowded venue, endangered the public, and discharged a gun on school property.”

“ _Allegedly.”_ Argent stressed the word as if it were synonymous with freedom. “You can’t prove I had anything to do with the mountain lion. As for firing the gun, I was protecting my family and the other parents in the parking lot.”

“I know your sister was in the preserve with her rifle again. She could have captured that mountain lion for you. I have two friends that will testify to seeing her do it.” He was sure Bobby and Derek were tired of her constant harassment and would be happy to put Kate and her family in a tight spot. “She captured the mountain lion, you released it and shot it in front of everybody.”

“What’s my motive?” The hunter asked curiously.

“You were trying to throw suspicion off yourself,” The best lies were the ones built off the truth. The story Jax could spin for the cops would be more truth than lies. “See, your family is behind all those supposed animal attacks.”

“Problem is, from what I hear, the coroner found animal hair to corroborate his findings,” Argent’s lips twisted in a smile, as if he had blown a hole through Jax’s theory. “Wolf hair, specifically.”

“Wolves haven’t been seen in California for over sixty years.” He’d picked up that little tidbit form his brother. “Your family moves around a lot. Something tells me you’ve lived in a town near a forest where wolves populate. Your sister told Stilinski when he caught her in the preserve that she was out there hunting. It stands to reason that you could have hunted wolves somewhere else, kept the fur to make your wife a purse or coat, whatever. You planted what was leftover on your victims to make it seem like an animal killed them.”

“You have a very active imagination.” Argent noted as Jax released his hold on him.

“It’s a family trait.” He and Stiles inherited it from their mother. “So, you’re not gonna call the cops. Chances are you and your sister would be the ones ending up behind bars, and that would leave your wife and daughter vulnerable, and you wouldn’t take that risk. You’re gonna do what I tell you to do, pack up your family and be out of Beacon Hills by the end of the week.”  

“What makes you so sure?”

“You’ve got no play here, bro. You’ll do as you’re told or you’re done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there are wolves in California but as of the pilot episode of Teen Wolf, there aren't any in the shows universe. That's probably a fact Jeff Davis put in so there would be a plausible reason for Stiles to jump the werewolf conclusion so soon. If there were actual wolves populating California in Teen Wolf's universe, the reaction to Scott being bit would be more "Dude, you need a rabies shot."  
> And the Argents wouldn't show up quite so soon if they thought it was just a regular old wolf, they'd wait for a few more bodies to drop before uprooting their family. So yeah, I'm guessing Jeff Davis intentionally slipped in the no wolves thing. It's false in the real world but serves a purpose in the fictional universe of Teen Wolf.
> 
> I'm just trying to follow the facts provided in the canon universes of the three shows, sometimes they don't mesh with the real world.


	6. Old Bones & Fresh Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: That [character warning](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/charmingwaywardsons) from a few chapters back is relevant to this chapter.  
> Gif set: [High Maintenance](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/150761608859/charming-wayward-sons-verse-youre-so-high), [ World's Worst Driver](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/151032987619/charming-wayward-sons-verse-worlds-worst), [Poison Us](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/150843557914/charming-wayward-sons-verse-is-she-gonna-poison), [Night School](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/150747680194/charming-wayward-sons-verse-night-school-im).  
> Episodes: [SPN] 3x07 Fresh Blood, [SOA] 1x07 Old Bones, [TW] 1x06 Heart Monitor & 1x07 Night School.  
> *Stiles comes off much harsher in this chapter than he does in canon episode of Night School. His allegiance are different. He's had to deal the club and the Winchester's his entire life, he's not willing to put up with certain behaviors.

Jax liked to think he had a high tolerance for odd or questionable behavior. Given the people he chose to associate himself with, he learned to roll with weird shit over the years. However, there were a few instances when he couldn’t help but say something.

“Okay, what the hell?”

“Dean did it.” Sam mumbled sleepily.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about.” Jax chuckled. It was such a little brother thing to do to place the blame on the older sibling without even knowing what they were blaming them for.

“It’s _probably_ Dean’s fault.” Sam amended his previous statement as he pulled himself into a sitting position on the sofa.

“Why’d you sleep there last night?” Jax asked, observing the pillow and blanket strewn across the couch. “I said you could use Stiles room.”

“I don’t fit well on a twin bed.” Sam admitted sheepishly. “The couch doesn’t have a wooden footboard. I can just drape my legs over the arm of it.”

“Yeah.” Stiles didn’t even fit on that bed, Jax had no idea why he thought gigantor would. “I’m gonna go wake up your brother.”

“Okay.”

He left Sam to his own devices in the living room and made his way back to the bedroom. Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, half-asleep from the looks of things. He was awake enough to have slipped on his briefs and a t-shirt, so Jax figured he could hold a lucid conversation.

“Why is there a bloody machete on my kitchen table?”

“A machete?” The confusion on Dean’s face was quickly replaced by a sudden realization. “Oh. There was a vampire.”

“In my kitchen?” Jax found that highly unlikely.

“No, it wasn’t in your kitchen.” The hunter shook his head. “It was in a warehouse across town.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like the blood of the undead with my morning coffee.” He tried not to deal with bloodshed of any kind until after breakfast. “Clean it up.”

“You’re so high maintenance.” Dean drawled. “If I clean it up, are you gonna make me breakfast?”

“No.” It had nothing to do with him not wanting to cook for Dean or his lack of actual cooking ability. “The fact that there is no food in my house hasn’t changed since you were whining about it yesterday.”

“Why?”

“Gemma and Stiles are both in Beacon Hills.” How were groceries supposed to magically appear in his kitchen if they weren’t there to go shopping? “One of them usually fills the cupboards and stocks the fridge.”

“You would starve to death without them.” Dean predicted. “Why’s Gem been up in Beacon Hills anyway? She’s been there for like a week.”

“Mostly, she’s punishing Clay.” His stepfather had been bitching about Gemma’s absence since she left. “And she’s been taking care of John since he got hurt. Not that he needs it, he’s only got a few bruises.”

“And Stiles is allowing this to happen?” Dean questioned dubiously. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“He called and sent an SOS text, claiming she was holding him captive, but I assumed he was just being dramatic.” His baby brother could blow things out of proportion where their mother was concerned. “John called once and ordered me to retrieve her.”

“Naturally, you declined to do so.”

“If Mom wants to be all maternal with Stiles, and wife-like to John, then more power to her.” It might piss off Clay and annoy both Stilinski’s, but it painted a hilarious picture for Jax.

“She and Stiles have been basically living together for a week. In the same town. In the same house.” Horror flickered over Dean’s features. “And they haven’t killed each other yet?”

“I know.” It was an impressive feat. He didn’t think the pair would last two days. “I should probably go check on them, but going with you on a vampire hunt sounds less traumatic.”

“Well, you might have a chance to do that too, if you want to.” Dean mentioned conversationally. “Sam and I killed a newbie last night. The vamp who turned her is still out there. We’re gonna try to find it today.”

“You have any leads?”

“The chick met her sire or whatever, at some club called Spider.” The hunter offered Jax what little information he had. “She said he put a few drops of what she thought was a red drug into her drink. It turned out to be vampire blood.”

“He slipped it into her drink?” That went against everything he thought he knew about the undead. “Don’t vampires bite their victims?”

“Usually, but I guess it’s not actually necessary.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe it’s some new age vamp thing, where they don’t want to physically harm their victims.”

“So he’s either a pussy or polite.” Perhaps the vampire thought the lack of violence in the turning process would help them appear less evil. “You think he’ll go back to that club? Spider?”

“It’s possible.”

“If you’re checking it out tonight, you should take Juice with you.” Jax would volunteer his own services, but every time he made plans, something always came up. “I think he hangs out at Spider once in a while. He might know someone who can give you information on the guy you’re looking for.”

“I’ll ask him if he wants to tag along.” Dean said through a yawn as he reclined back on the bed. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“You didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” They had gotten distracted from resting by other things. “You want to crash for a few more hours or do you want to go out to breakfast?”

“How about you come back to bed for a little while,” Dean suggested, spreading his legs invitingly. “We’ll go out for breakfast after.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Come on.” The hunter beckoned him over, but Jax had one last thing to do before he could comply.

“Hey Sam!” He shouted out the bedroom door as he stripped out of his shirt. “You might want to bail, kid. Things might get loud.”

“Things got loud last night. All night.” Sam complained from down the hall. “I’m taking the Impala, and staying at a motel tonight.”

“Good idea.” Dean praised the plan. “Now get out.”

“I’m gone.”

* * *

 

John had spent a total of five days off work. _Five._ The only time he ever took that much time off was when he and Stiles went on their annual camping trip over spring break. He had never, in his entire life, taken a week off to recuperate from a few scrapes and bruises.

It wasn’t his choice, either. He had every intention of returning to work the morning after the incident at the school. It was Stiles who convinced him to stay home. His son had flashed him the same sad, pleading eyes he used to give him when he was a boy and making John pinky swear to be safe at work. He had never developed immunity to that particular expression, in fact, he would agree to absolutely anything his son asked of him when the kid brandished it.

So he had received the _look_ and found himself taking the five days off. Five miserable days. It wouldn’t have been so bad if there wasn’t an extra occupant in his house. That occupant being Gemma was the arsenic laced icing on the cake.

Gemma had followed him home after he’d been released from the hospital, and it didn’t take her long to get comfortable. She made herself right at home, more or less carving out a space for herself in the house, as well as in he and Stiles little family unit. It was challenging to deal with, to say the least.

The oddness of the situation had little to do with that fact that John and Stiles had not cohabitated with a woman in years, and more to do with the current woman being Gemma. It was bizarre to have her invading their space, barely giving them any room to breathe or go about their day as they normally would. The negative effects of the prolonged exposure to the matriarch were already making themselves known.

It was more noticeable in Stiles. The kid had become increasingly agitated the longer he spent in Gemma’s presence. His usual snappish and insolent attitude toward the woman had given way to something tense and wary. It was almost as if her invasion of their home, of Stiles safe place, had flipped some kind of switch, had intimated the teenager in a way Gemma had never managed to in Charming.

The behavior struck a chord in John, left him feeling worried and anxious. He could count on one hand how many times he had witnessed his son wilt in someone’s presence. In the past, the reaction was brought on by someone who had damaged him some way that wasn’t easily repairable, and Gemma certainly fit that bill.

No matter what happened in Stiles life, how their relationship changed, Gemma would always be the woman who shoved a knife into his heart on multiple occasions. Stiles didn’t let the wounds she left show often. The distance between their places of residence helped. It wasn’t a shock to think their sudden close proximity would dredge up buried feelings in his son.

Even something as simple as sitting down for breakfast, as they were doing now, seemed to trigger that deep-rooted mistrust and anxiety in Stiles. He was twitchy, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, tapping his foot on the floor, and biting his lip. The kid’s discomfort was loud and clear, despite the fact that Gemma hadn’t even sat down with them yet.

“Stiles,” John covered his son’s hand with his own in an effort to stop the constant rap of nails against wood. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine.” The quick answer and word choice was enough of an indicator that he was nowhere in the realm of fine. “A little traumatized, but otherwise fine. Or, maybe, _a lot_ traumatized and a little fine.”

“Traumatized?” He was almost afraid to find out what his son had meant by that. “Did something happen that I need to know about?”

“I got up early, hoping to escape before _she_ woke up.” Stiles subtly motioned to Gemma, who was standing at the stove with her back to them. “I was passing by your bedroom, when the door opened and she stepped out. She walked out of _your_ bedroom at five in the morning, wearing nothing but a robe. Gemma was in a robe, coming out of your room, at –“

“I get it.” There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. “It’s not what it looked like.”

“What it looked like was the two of you taking that husband and wife joke a little too far.” His son remarked hysterically. “Just because the town thinks you’re married, after that little show at the conferences, does not mean you have to act like it by doing…d-doing things only married people should do!”

“ _’Things only married people should do,’_ ” He ignored most of what his son had said to focus on that important bit. “You have no idea how comforting that is to hear, if you actually believe it.”

“I don’t believe it. It was just relevant to my point.” Stiles shot that idea right in the foot. “Do not change the subject! Y-You slept with Gemma.”

“If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been born.”

“Now is not that time to be clever, Pop.” Stiles scolded. “You slept with her last night.”

“We slept in the same bed, that’s it.” There was absolutely no sex involved. “And it wasn’t my choice. I woke up and she was curled up in bed with me.”

“Why didn’t you ask her to leave?”

“It was late and I didn’t want to be rude.” To be honest, it felt nice to feel a warm body pressed against his. It had been a long time since he had something like that.

“Oh, I see. So if she were to show up in your bed, naked, looking for more than snuggles, you would have obliged, because you didn’t want to be rude.” Stiles smacked a palm down on the table to express his disapproval. “If that’s how easy you are, then I understand why Nana calls you a tramp.”

“Nana calls me a tramp because— No, you know what, I’m not having that conversation with you again.” It didn’t really paint him in a better light when the reason his grandmother called him that was currently standing at the stove. “Nothing happened between Gemma and I last night. End of discussion.”

“End of discussion.”  Stiles nodded and sent a superstitious glance over his shoulder to Gemma. “Why are you letting her cook?”

“I’m not.” _Let_ implied she had asked his permission to do so, and she had not. “I came downstairs after my shower and she was already at the stove. She’s been there awhile, actually.”

“Awhile….” The teenager worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is she gonna poison us?”

“No.” He said definitively before thinking better of it. “I mean, I don’t think so.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Did you call your brother?” He asked, hoping to have a solution to their _problem_ sooner rather than later. “Did you tell him the situation?”

“I told him she was holding us hostage.” That was a tad dramatic, but not entirely inaccurate. “He laughed and hung up on me.”

“Ah crap.” So much for their rescue.

“Do you think she’ll ever leave?”

“Yes.” She had to go at some point, she had a whole life to get back to. “She’s got a family in Charming, a husband, son, and grandson. She’ll go back for Jackson for sure. No offense, son, but she loves him more than you.”

“No offense taken. She loves everyone more than she loves me.” Stiles remarked nonchalantly. “ _When_ do you think she’ll leave?”

“I don’t know. Just play nice with her, okay?” It would be best for everyone if they kept things civil. “With any luck we’ll both make it out of this alive.”

“You know, I can hear you.” Gemma squawked as she flicked off the stove. “I didn’t have to spend the week taking care of you ungrateful assholes. You got hurt and I stepped up. It’s not like there was anyone else to do it.”

“I didn’t get hurt. I got a little banged up. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle on my own.” John had been taking care of himself since he was seventeen. He didn’t need anyone’s help on that front. “But I do appreciate everything you’ve done for us these last few days.”

“I don’t. She was supposed to be doing all of that for me since I was born.” Stiles muttered under his breath. “Wow. That felt bitter. Did that sound bitter?”

“It did sound a little bitter.” His son was entitled to that bitterness so he wouldn’t admonish him for it. “Hey, if you’re uncomfortable with her here, why don’t you head to school early? You can grab something to eat on the way. I’ll talk to her and make sure she’s not here when you get home. That’s if you decide to come straight home. You gonna hang out with Scott after school?”

“No.” Stiles dropped his gaze and scowled at the coffee cup in front of him. “I will not be hanging out with Scott anytime soon.”

“Son, I know what happened at the conferences scared you.” His injuries had been minimal, but to Stiles every injury might as well have been a gun shot. “But it wasn’t Scott’s fault. He didn’t release that mountain lion, and he didn’t back into me with that car.”

“It was the Argents fault and Scott refuses to believe that.” Stiles would not take Scott’s disloyalty lightly. “We’ve been friends since we were kids, but he’s choosing to believe that family, with all the evidence stacked against them, just because their daughter spread her legs for him.”

“Watch your mouth.” John didn’t care if the statement was true or not, he had raised his son to respect others.

“Find new friends.” Gemma advised as she dished out eggs and hash browns onto a plate.

“It’s not that simple.” Stiles scoffed at the suggestion “Unlike you, Mama Gemma, I can’t browbeat people into liking me.”

“You can if you try hard enough.” The matriarch reasoned.

“All right. I’m going to school.” The teenager stood from the table and grabbed his backpack off the back of the chair. “I’ll grab something to eat on that way.”

“I just made breakfast.” Gemma set the plates down on the table.

“Sorry.” Stiles apologized, sounding more relieved than anything. “Have a good first day back at work, Pop.”

“I will.” He was looking forward to his time at the station, at least he would until he saw the paperwork that was stacked on his desk. “Think about talking to Scott. He’s your best friend. Work it out.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Betrayal is unforgivable, baby.” Gemma interjected, reminding their son of her creed. “Maybe that’s a lesson your friend Scott needs to learn.”

“Yeah, maybe it is.” Stiles murmured and trudged out of the room.

“Gemma,” John sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t poison my child with your way of thinking.”

“That’s an important life lesson.” She argued, dropping into the seat Stiles had vacated. “And there’s just something about that Scott kid that rubs me the wrong way.”

“Claudia said the same thing the first time Stiles brought him home.” John hadn’t thought much of it then, the boys had only been five at the time, but his wife’s opinion on Scott had never changed in the time she knew him. “She put up with him, because he is Stiles friend. You don’t actually live here and Scott doesn’t take trips to Charming, so you don’t have to do that.”

“Thank god for that.”

“Speaking of you not living here, when do you plan on going home?” John decided it was best to get that conversation over with before he left for work.

“I’m well aware that I’m not welcome here, Johnny.” She retorted hotly. “You and Stiles have made that perfectly clear.”

“That’s not true.” If it were, she would not have spent a week in his home. “Stiles and I have been very respectful of you being here.”

“Stiles has spent every moment avoiding me. If he’s not at school, he’s locked in his bedroom.” The older woman groused, stabbing a fork into her eggs. “Getting him to come down for dinner is like pulling teeth.”

“You know, it’s been awhile since I was a teenage boy, but from what I recall, I spent a lot of time in my room too.” He sure as hell didn’t do it to avoid his parents. “I’m sure Jax did the same thing.”

“The difference is, you and Jax had dirty magazines or girls in there with you.” Gemma smirked knowingly. “We both knew girls aren’t really Stiles thing. And I cleaned every nook and cranny of his room while he was at school the other day. I didn’t find any naughty magazines.”

“He doesn’t need a magazine, he has the internet.” Why would he want something that could be found upon a search of his room when he could just delete his browser history? “Oh, and you going through his things is a good part of the reason he doesn’t like you being here.”

“I was cleaning, not looking for dirt to use against him.”

“That kid keeps his room nearly spotless. There was no reason for you to be in there cleaning it.” He was certain his son kept his room clean so John did not have a reason to go snooping. “This house is his sanctuary. He doesn’t like people invading it.”

“I’m not people. I’m his mother.” She claimed indignantly.

“When it suits you.” It hadn’t always, in Stiles short life. “Those first eight years, he was just too much of an inconvenience for you to accept that role.”

He took a special kind of pleasure in the way she reared back like she’d been slapped. Her jaw snapped shut with a click, and her hand opened and closed as if she were resisting the urge to slug him for the comment.

“The truth stings, doesn’t it, _darling_?” He couldn’t help but rub salt in the wound. “And that, by the way, is the main reason he’s not comfortable with you being here.”

“I had my goddamn reasons for that.” Reasons she refused to share. “I’ve spent years trying to make up for it. It’s not my fault he doesn’t see that.”

“Yes, it is your fault. He sees your abandonment, and your sorry attempt to claim him later, as a betrayal.” What was it she had said a few moments ago about betrayal? “Betrayal is unforgivable.”

“Don’t quote me to me.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know why he gets agitated when you try to mother him by force.” There was a proper way to handle Stiles and then there was Gemma’s way. “You usually have a pretty good read on him, but when it comes to this, you’re lost.”

“And I supposed you are gonna show me the way.” She snarked curtly.

“I don’t want to. He had a mother, even if it was only for a little while.” She often forgot that their son already had a mother who loved him dearly. One of Gemma’s biggest problems was her need to push Claudia’s memory out of the way, to degrade it, so she could reclaim what she felt was her rightful place in Stiles life. “However, since you insist on playing mommy, whether Stiles likes it or not, I think I should give you some advice to make this as painless as possible.”

“I’m listening.”

“Stiles loves you in his own way. A part of him sees you as his mother, not in the same way as he saw Claudia, but a mother nonetheless.” He wasn’t sure if his son ever could look at Gemma the same way he had Claudia. He wasn’t sure if he wanted him to, either. “You keep trying to push your maternal feelings on him, and he keeps slamming on the brakes. You can’t force him to accept you as his mother, not after you abandon him after he was born. The ball is in his court. You have to let him come to you.”

* * *

 

Brothers could be cruel, that was a fact of life. It didn’t matter if they were older, younger, or even the same age. They could be the sweetest people in your life or the most sinister. Jax had been lucky enough to stay on his brother’s good side, for the most part at least. Dean, on the other hand, had not been as fortunate.

It started when they had finally pulled themselves out of bed and decided to get dressed and begin their day. They planned to go to breakfast first, before Jax headed into work and Dean went to track the vampire. To do that, they needed separate vehicles, and therein lied the problem.

Dean’s Impala was gone, along with Sam. The younger Winchester left earlier in the morning, as instructed, and had taken the car with him. Dean had called his little brother, telling him to swing by and pick him up, but Sam had refused on the basis that he was across town and did not want to drive all the way back.

Jax spent a good twenty minutes listening to Dean bitch at Sam over the phone, and came to a conclusion, Dean yelled at Sam that same way Stiles yelled at him, which meant one of them had their big brother/little brother roles reversed. He made a mental note to determine which of them had it wrong later. He had other things to deal with at the moment.

“You done whining about your precious car, princess?” He asked as Dean hung up on his brother. ”Or do you want to cry about it some more?”

“Do not start with me, Jackson.” Dean warned, shoving the cellphone into his pocket. “He’s only keeping Baby from me to piss me off.”

“Right.” A little brother being a shithead. _Shocker_. “So you’re either taking a walk across town or riding bitch on my bike.”

“Oh, you have got to be joking.” Dean shook his head. “Damn it, Jax. Your son will be coming home eventually, and you can’t strap a car seat to the back of your Dyna. Get a car!”

“Yes, Mom, I’m looking for one.” That didn’t mean one would suddenly appear in his driveway now that Dean needed to use it. “You know, I told Chibs and Bobby Elvis that I was gonna buy a car, and Bobby Elvis said not to bother, Gemma already had some kind of schedule made up for the baby. Whatever the hell that means.”

“It means they don’t trust you to drive anything but your bike.” The hunter dumbed it down for him. “No one is gonna put that innocent baby in a vehicle that you’re behind the wheel of.”

“That’s fucking rude.” It wasn’t the first time Jax had heard something like that. “I don’t know why everyone has such a problem with me driving a damn car.”

“Really? You’ve got no idea?” Dean cackled in disbelief. “You, Jackson, are the world’s worst driver.”

“No, I’m not.” That was a gross exaggeration.

“Yes, you are.” Dean smirked. “And if I ever catch you behind the wheel of the Impala, I will kill you so hard even a demon deal couldn’t bring you back.”

“You’ve got a flare for the dramatics today.” He was hoping the hunter would bring it down a notch at some point. “My ability to drive a car doesn’t matter right now, because I don’t have one. So, are you taking a walk or taking a ride with me?”

“Stop enjoying this.” Dean ordered, trying to be stern but coming off like a pouting child. “Where’s the extra helmet?”

“In the garage.” He was smart enough to leave out the ‘where Wendy left it.’ “I’ll meet you outside.”

Jax had locked up the house and was waiting patiently on his bike when Dean finally strolled out of the garage. The hunter looked like he was seriously regretting every life choice that led him to that moment before grudgingly climbing on the bike behind Jax.

“You might want to hold on.” He encouraged Dean, whose arms remained limp at his sides. “Don’t be difficult. This isn’t your first time.”

“Son of a bitch.” The other man swore as he wrapped his arms around Jax’s waist, albeit loosely.

“Stubborn ass.” Jax sighed as he pulled out of the driveway, knowing Dean wouldn’t be making this easy.

“What?” The hunter yelled into his, leaning closer to hear him properly. “You say something, Jax?”

“Nope.” Nothing he would want to hear, anyway.

Despite the awkward and tense way Dean sat behind him, Jax felt nothing but content throughout the ride. The sun was shining brightly and the light breeze felt wonderful against his face. It was a beautiful day that had followed a pleasure-filled morning. That could only mean it would change for the worse at some point.

The shift happened sooner than expected, just as he turned onto the highway toward town. There was construction in progress near the access road, which wasn’t odd, there was always some kind of road work going on. The strange part was the police tape and cops posted around the site.

“Shit.”

He pulled the motorcycle off to the side of the road, far enough down so that the state patrol wouldn’t get suspicious. He took his helmet off, resting it on the handlebars, and dismounted the bike, knocking Dean off with him.

“What’s wrong?” The hunter questioned as he steadied himself.

“You see that?” Jax nodded to the construction site. “What’s that look like to you?”

“Crime scene tape, heavy police presence, and from the looks of what the techs are laying out on that tarp,” Dean gestured to the blue tarp on the ground by the hole the crime scene techs were knee-deep in. “They’re digging up a grave site.”

“Yeah.” That was just fucking fantastic. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“SAMCRO gravesite?” Dean inquired hesitantly. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask.”

“I don’t know whose grave it is.” Smart money said it was one of the clubs dumpsites, but Jax couldn’t be sure, he hadn’t had a hand in burying anyone out there. “I’m gonna have to cancel our breakfast. I gotta take this to Clay, see what he’s got to say about it.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

* * *

 

Stiles never claimed to be an inherently good person. He could be a manipulative asshole, petty, and spiteful. He may not have been a good person, but he always tried to have a good reason when his behavior leaned toward the dark side.

Giving Scott the silent treatment for nearly a week was not the worst thing he had ever done. Hell, it was tame compared to what he would have done to a club member in the same position. He did take a sick kind of enjoyment in having Scott jump through hoops to gain his attention. Of course, in the end, it was nothing Scott did, but something he said, that piqued Stiles interest, and that was about the rogue alpha.

Unfortunately, once Scott realized he had Stiles attention, the conversation about the alpha quickly gave way to complaints about Derek. Scott had grown increasingly aggravated by the other wolf’s attempts to teach him control. Stiles wasn’t at all sympathetic, in fact he felt the exact opposite.

“Scotty, I know you don’t like Derek,” His buddy had made his feelings about the other wolf perfectly clear. “But he’s been doing this werewolf thing a lot longer than you. He just wants to show you the ropes.”

“I don’t want this help.” Scott replied petulantly as they made their way out of the school. “I don’t want to be a werewolf.”

“Yeah, well, until we can find a cure,” Let’s be real, if there was a cure, he would have found it already. “We need to utilize the resources at our disposal. Derek is one of those resources.”

“Derek’s a jerk.” That was funny coming from the guy who had been nothing but a pain in the ass to Derek since the day they’d met.

“So am I.” If his friend didn’t know that yet, he would soon. “So, you’re not gonna take him up on his offer to help you?”

“I don’t want Derek’s help!”

“Okay. Fine.” It was up to him to teach his friend control then. “Do you have your keys?”

“Yeah. Why?” Scott pulled his keys out of his backpack.

“Hold ‘em up.” Stiles maneuvered Scott’s fingers until he was holding the keys up in his hands, as if they were on display. “Like so, yeah. Now, whatever happens, just think about Allison. Try to find her like you did at our last game. Got it?”

“Uh, I think so.”

“Okay.” Stiles grinned encouragingly and double-checked the placement of Scott’s keys. “Just keep holding them up like that.”

In the past, when it came to Scott, Stiles had always used kid gloves. His friend was innocent, had a soft disposition. It was tough to be hard on him without immediately feeling bad about it. However, that was before he was turned into a werewolf, and became kind of a dick. The shift in Scott’s personality allowed Stiles to alter his technique a bit.

Stiles usually reserved his tough love act for SAMCRO, he had never had to implement it for Scott. Honestly, he didn’t think his buddy could handle it, but now he had no choice. If Scott refused to be smart about his new abilities, to play it safe, then Stiles would do what had to be done.

In this case, that meant taking the key to Jeep and dragging it across the side of a strangers pick-up parked outside the school, leaving a long scratch in the paint job. He took a moment to inspect the damage and decided it was just the right amount of vandalism to really piss someone off. He then took several steps back, ensuring there was a safe distance between he and the vehicle, before setting phase two of his plan in motion.

“Hey, dude!” Stiles shouted as he pocketed his keys, hiding the evidence from sight. “What do you think you’re doing to that car, bro?”

His exclamation drew the attention of other students in the vicinity, including the trucks owner and a couple of his friends. Naturally, the owner zeroed in on the alleged culprit, the idiot still holding up a car key. Any normal person might have dropped it to avoid looking guilty, but Scott, as panicked as he was, continued to hold it up high in the air.

“What the hell?” The pick-up’s owner snarled.

Scott could only shake his head back and forth in denial as the trucks owner and his buddies advanced on him. Stiles flinched sympathetically as all at once the students pummeled his friend. Scott ended up on the ground, in the fetal position, while his assailants stomped on him.

“Ow. My god. Wow.” Stiles cringed and swore he saw his friends eyes flash, a sure sign he was beginning to lose control. “Stay calm, Scott. Come on, buddy.” 

* * *

 

If dealing with SAMCROs past bad deeds wasn’t on Jax’s docket for the day, then watching Tig mentally scar a few nurses at St. Thomas, by showing off the dog bite on his ass, sure as hell wasn’t either. Seriously, there were easier ways to distract them so they could snatch one of their badges. Jax had only himself to blame, well, himself and Clay, they were the ones who sent Tig in to begin with.

“Distract them. I said distract them.” Jax reminded Tig as he stepped out of the doctor’s lounge. “Not scar them for life.”

“No, I was serious.” Tig claimed as he pulled his pants back up. “I think it’s infected.”

“I think your head’s infected.” Great, he was using comebacks even his little brother would be ashamed of. “The bones Water and Power found off 44 are downstairs in the coroner’s office. Trammel said Sanwa county is picking ‘em up tomorrow. You and Clay know what you’re doing?”

“We’re pulling the teeth to prevent identification.” Tig went over the plan again. “It’s not our first time. And, you know, we don’t really need your help.”

“Good.” He wasn’t offering his help anyway. “That guy Sam and Dean saved from the vamp last night was admitted here. I’m gonna go talk to him, see what he knows.”

“We’ll meet you out front when we’re done.”

“Yep.”

Jax left Tig and Clay to deal with the old bones, while he wandered down the hall to the receptions desk. It took a few nice words and a reminder of exactly who he was to convince the nurse to give him the room number. Although, any ideas he had of talking to the guy were lost when he saw the room was already occupied.

There were two men standing at the foot of the victim’s bed, flashing FBI credentials. One was an older guy with wild hair that made him appear unhinged, and the other a dark skinned man that seemed to be the one in charge of the makeshift interrogation. It wasn’t hard to deduce they weren’t really feds. They held themselves like something a little more familiar.

“Hunters.” Jax muttered to himself as he pinned his body against the wall outside the room to listen in.

“Can you describe your attacker?” The grey haired man asked the patient.

“Uh, she was crazy.” The victim said dumbly. “She had that, uh, super-PCP strength, you know? She _gnawed_ on my neck.”

“And did she bleed on you?” The other ‘fed’ questioned.

“On me? No.”

“In your mouth, an open wound, anything?” The hunter pushed, only for the vic to respond with a shake of his head. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He furrowed his brows in confusion. “Why do you ask?”

“This woman has a very dangerous virus.” Is that’s what they were choosing to call vampirism these days?

“What?” The victim slapped a hand to his bandage-covered throat. “She bit my neck!”

“The bite doesn’t matter.” The older hunter assured him. “You have to actually ingest the blood to be infected.”

“Good thing, too. We’d have to kill you.” The other hunter added, earning a nervous laugh from the victim. “Tell us more about the attack.”

“She jumped me, then bit me.” He gave them the short, to the point version of what had transpired. “Then those two guys found me and chased her down the alley.”

Jax stopped listening then, he was well aware of who those two guys were, and he had a feeling the other hunters did to. He removed his phone from his pocket as he started off down the hall, dialing the familiar number and bringing the phone to his ear.

 _“Yeah?”_ Dean’s annoyed voice greeted him.

“We got some new players in town.” Jax revealed as he jogged toward the bank of elevators. “They were questioning your vic from last night. And they didn’t seem friendly.”

_“What did they look like?”_

“A black guy on a mission and a crazy looking white dude.” It wasn’t much of a description, but it was the best he could do.

 _“Walker and Kubrick.”_ Dean snarled over the line.

“I take it you’ve met before.”

 _“Kubrick thinks Sam is the anti-Christ. Walker doesn’t think Sam is human and wants him dead_.” Dean sighed tiredly. _“They’re lunatics.”_

“I can take care of it—“

 _“No!”_ He snapped. _“Helping me with a case is one thing, okay? Dealing with a couple douchebag hunters isn’t something I’ll involve you in.”_

“Not even to protect Sam?” It was a low blow, he knew that, but it was necessary to get his point across. “He is who they want, right?”

 _“Don’t try to manipulate me, Jackson.”_ Anger mixed with betrayal laced Dean’s tone. _“This is my business, not yours, and not SAMCROs. Mine. You’ve got no rights to it.”_

“You’re mine.” The words slipped from his mouth so easily. “Your business is my business.”

 _“Don’t pull that possessive bullshit on me.”_ The hunter cautioned. _“I’m not your old lady or some croweater.”_

“I just want to help you.” He knew Dean wouldn’t accept any assistance without a good reason. “I don’t expect you to be grateful, just don’t be a prick about it. Tell me what you need me to do.”

 _“Nothing. You do nothing.”_ Dean instructed. _“I can handle it. I don’t need you to step in every time you learn I’ve got a problem. I can take care of my business, just like I know you can take care of yours.”_

“Fine.” If Dean was going to put his stubborn foot down, then Jax had no choice but to listen or risk making things worse. “I’ll leave Kubrick and Walker alone, but I’m still helping with the vampire thing.”

_“Like I could stop you.”_

* * *

 

Making his way through the high school parking lot in the middle of the night, Stiles came to an irritating realization: every conflict involving those around him could be fixed with a little communication. Communication was vital to their coexistence and survival. If his friends and allies could just learn to share information, things would go a hell of a lot smoother.

For instance, if Derek had been upfront about his suspicions of Scott’s boss, Deaton, being the alpha, then they could have avoided Deaton’s beat down and Scott’s anger. If Scott had been more receptive to Derek in any way, then Derek might have been more willing to come to them with prospective leads. Perhaps, if they were all a little more open to trading information, they wouldn’t be in this situation. They could have formulated a plan to find the alpha together, instead of having Scott howl through the school’s intercom. Maybe, if they had, he and Scott wouldn’t be receiving the most judgmental of stares from Derek.

“I’m gonna kill both of you.” Derek growled, eyes darting in every direction, on the lookout for an attack. “What the hell was that? What are you trying to do, attract every wolf in the state to the school?”

“Sorry.” Scott shrugged, but couldn’t hide the fact that he was fucking proud of the way his howl had echoed, not just through the school, but through town. “I didn’t know it would be that loud.”

“It was loud.” Stiles ears were still ringing a bit. “And it was awesome!”

“Shut up.” Derek shot him an indignant glare.

“Don’t be such a sourwolf.” Stiles snarked. “Do you think he got the alpha’s attention or not?”

“The alpha and any other werewolf in California.” Derek commented irritably.

“Where’s Deaton?” Scott asked suddenly, gaze locked on Derek’s now empty camaro, where the vet had been tied up. “What’d you do with him?”

“What?” The other wolf glanced to his car’s backseat. “I didn’t do anything.”

“He didn’t just slip the ropes and walk away.” Scott argued. “Right, Stiles? Derek was the only one here the whole time we were inside. Deaton couldn’t get away without him seeing something. Right?”

“Don’t look at me for affirmation. Okay? I’m Switzerland in all this.” He could prefer to remain neutral to all parties involved, or at least appear neutral, while silently judging every choice they made. “And I wouldn’t put it past Deaton to Houdini his way out of bonds. He’s very sneaky.”

“He’s a veterinarian, not a bad guy.” Scott continued to defend his boss. “The alpha is someone else, and if he heard my howl, he’ll come.”

Scott was right about that, but probably wished he wasn’t when a loud growl sounded through the lot, one neither Scott or Derek could match. It was close, too close, and sent chills up Stiles spine. He scurried back toward his jeep, just as Derek grunted in pain.

Stiles whipped his head toward the older wolf just in time to see a clawed hand impale his torso. Blood gushed from Derek’s mouth as a large wolf with red glowing eyes lifted him off the ground.

“Oh…Oh shit….” Stiles gasped as the alpha tossed Derek aside like a ragdoll. “Scotty—“

“Run!” Scott yelled, grabbing Stiles by the shirtsleeve to drag him along.

“Yeah. Run! Now! Go!”

* * *

 

Usually, when Juice went to a club, he went alone. He didn’t have many friends outside SAMCRO, and they weren’t exactly the club type. SAMCRO preferred dirty dive bars to loud music made after 1987. Alone was better, he could drink and dance, hook up with a girl or guy who caught his eye, without being heckled or teased.

He considered the bars and nightclubs he went to as sacred, they allowed him to decompress from SAMCRO business. He wasn’t pleased to have one of his happy places invaded by, not only his VP, but the Winchesters as well, but he figured they were better than some vampire biting everyone who was looking for a good time.

“So, Juice is gonna show you guys around.” Jax told Sam and Dean as they rummaged through the Impala’s trunk. “It’s your show, so if you tell me to wait in the car, as some sort of getaway driver, I will. I’ll do as I’m told like a good boy.”

“You’re not the getaway driver. We’re not robbing a bank or knocking off a convenient store.” Dean scoffed as he hid a machete behind his jacket. “You, _my dear_ , are the bait.”

“The bait.” Jax deadpanned and paused to wait for the punch line.

“He’s a little too butch for that, isn’t he?” The vamp had a specific type and to the best of Juice’s knowledge, Jax did not match up with it. “He’s missing a few key components.”

“Yeah, tits and a pussy.” Jax’s hand went to cup his pecs as if to show off they were flat and not breast-like at all. “I’m not a chick, man. The vampire you took out last night, Lucy or whoever, may have bit a dude, but the vamp that bit her has been going after blonde _women_.”

“You’ve got nice long hair and a great ass,” Dean complimented Jax’s features, while stepping back to get a better view of his butt. “All you gotta do is lean against the bar, presenting your _assets_ , while your pretty blond locks cascade over your face to hide your facial hair.”

“I’m gonna kick your _assets_ in a minute.” Jax threatened the hunter, who snorted in return.

“You said it was our show and that you would do what we said.” Sam reminded Jax of what he had proclaimed just minutes ago. “You being bait probably won’t work, but it’s worth a shot, or so Dean says.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Jax grumbled, not happy about his head, or rather, neck, being on the chopping block. “Let’s get this done. Juice, you ready?”

“I guess.” He was ready as he could be to lose one of his favorite hideaways. Chances are, once the Winchesters were done with it, he’d never be able to show his face there again. “I’m gonna miss this club. It was the best place to get laid if I wanted something other than croweater pussy.”

“Why would you want something other than croweater pussy?” Jax asked disbelievingly.

“Probably for the same reason you want him.” Juice nodded to Dean. They were both looking for the same thing when they stepped outside of the cub, to be with someone who wanted them for more than the kutte.

“Dean’s still a croweater.” Jax claimed, much to Dean’s dismay if the scowl he was sporting was anything to go by. “Because he’s with me.”

“That doesn’t make me a croweater. I’d have to bang a few more club members to earn that title, and the others don’t really appeal to me. Except Juicy, of course,” Dean flashed him a flirtatious wink. “He’s prettier than you, Goldilocks.”

“Fuck you.” Jax didn’t see the humor in the joke, apparently. “And I’m not pretty, so your argument is bullshit.”

“Can we get this done, please?” Sam interrupted the argument before it could get any further. “We do want to find the vampire _before_ it attacks someone else.”

“Yeah, I agree with him.” Juice took the younger Winchesters side on the matter. “We should get inside and find this guy. I called Luke, the bartender, and he said he was gonna keep an eye out for us.”

“All right. Let’s do this.” Dean slammed the trunk shut.

From the looks of things inside the club, it was at maximum capacity. The music was thumping out a wild beat, almost synchronizing the bump and grind of bodies pushed together on the dance floor. It was only a guiding hand on Juice’s shoulder that kept him from joining the party.

“You’re not here to play.” Jax chortled in his ear. “We take care of the vampire first, then you can have your fun.”

“I know.” Stopping the vamp was the priority.

“Okay, Jax,” Dean slapped the blond on the back. “Go make yourself look presentable at the bar. You know, try to appear bitable.”

“I don’t think he’s going to have to. Look at that,” Sam pointed toward a man ducking out of the club with a young blonde woman. “I think we might be able to get this done early.”

“Sam and I take point. You two are backup.” Dean handed out orders. “No cowboy shit.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Jax gave the Winchesters a mock salute. “Let’s go stake the vampire.”

“No. No. We are not staking anything. This isn’t _Buffy_.” Dean pulled back his jacket far enough to reveal the machete sheath attached to his belt. “We cut its head off.”

“Well, let’s get on with the decapitation.” Jax corrected excitedly.

“Maybe bring it down a notch or two.” Juice glanced around the room nervously. “Maybe a little less ‘yay murder.’ A lot of these people are drunk and stoned, but they’re not all stupid.”

“Everyone shut up.” Dean snapped impatiently. “We have a job to do.”

If there was one thing they knew how to do it was take orders. They kept quiet as they obediently followed the Winchesters out the side exit, finding the vampire and his potential victim standing next to a dumpster in the alley across from the club.

“You ready, sweetie?” The vamp held up a dropper full of red liquid. “One taste of this and you’ll never be the same.”

He raised the dropper over her open mouth, prepared to drip the blood onto her waiting tongue, only to be stopped by Dean slamming into him. The hunter snagged his arm, wrenching it behind his back.

“Come here.” Sam grabbed the girl and shoved her toward Juice and Jax. “Get her out of here. Go!”

“Take her.” Jax pushed her into Juice’s arms. “I’m gonna help them.”

Juice wrapped his fingers around the girl’s bicep and pulled her along with him to the mouth of the alley, narrowly missing Dean, as the vampire hurled the hunter at the brick wall. Jax and Sam ran to help him up while Juice dragged the girl out of the alley and to the parking lot.

“Let go of me!” She yanked her arm free from his grip. “What the hell is wrong with you assholes?”

“Hey, we just saved your life.” That was assuming the vampire was planning to feed off her, not turn her. “The guy you were with is very dangerous.”

“That’s bullshit.” She shook her head angrily. “We were just gonna get high and go back to his place.”

“He’s abducted three women from this club.” Juice fed her a story that ran parallel to the truth. “You fit the profile, young, blonde, and ready to party.”

“What are you, some kind of cop?’

“No, but the guy who was thrown against the wall and the tall one are feds.” At least he hoped that was who they were passing themselves off as for this case, or else he had just blown their cover. “Me and the other guy were just helping them out. Look, you should get out of here. It’s not safe.”

“They don’t need my statement or whatever?”

“Nope.” It’s not like she could tell them anything they didn’t already know. “Just go.”

The chick ran straight back into the club without further prompting. Juice was ready to head back into the alleyway to help the others when he caught sight of Sam jogging out of it, while Jax and Dean appeared from the alley on the other side of the club. 

“What happened?” Juice asked, noting the distinct lack of blood and overall grime on their clothing.

“Hunters happened.” Dean disclosed curtly. “Other hunters. Douchebag hunters. They screwed everything up.”

“The vamp got away.” Jax admitted as he tried to catch his breath. “Where’s the girl?”

“I told her to take off.” He didn’t think it was necessary for her to stick around. “So what now?”

“We go back to the house and regroup.”

* * *

 

Hindsight, barricading themselves in the school to escape the alpha was not the brightest move. It was a kinda like when the ditz in a horror movie ran _up_ the stairs to get away from the homicidal maniac, instead of going out the front door. It was official, they were the dumbasses from a bad slasher flick.

Hiding out in the locker room was their first smart move all night. There was limited access and no windows for anything to break through. Stuffing themselves into lockers added an extra layer of protection, although it wasn’t full proof.

The metal lockers and door leading to the hall could only sustain so much. The alpha was bound to bust into the room at some point, and the flimsy barriers separating them would be no match for a werewolf’s claws. The only thing he and Scott could do was stay quiet and hope it got bored and found something better to hunt. Staying silent would be easier if Stiles could put off making a very important phone call.

_“Yeah?”_

“Bobby,” Stiles wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or frightened to have the hunter on the phone. “I need to tell you something.”

 _“Why the hell are you whispering?”_ Bobby questioned gruffly.

“I’m not in a place where I can really talk.” If he spoke any louder, the alpha might hear him and begin to put a little more force behind his hits to the door. “Look, you need to get to the high school. You have to get Derek.”

_“What happened?”_

“The alpha, it attacked us. It….” He faltered, unsure of how to put it delicately when time was of the essence. “It got Derek. It stuck its hand right through him and just tossed him away.”

 _“Is he alive?”_ With the severity of the wound, it was unlikely, but Stiles would not be the one to tell him that.

“I don’t know.” He wanted to believe Derek was fine, but he didn’t know much about werewolf healing to properly deduce whether one could survive an attack like that. “He might be. You have to go get him. You have to be sure. He’s out here all by himself.”

 _“You were with him.”_ The hunter said blandly, his voice void of all emotion. He was compartmentalizing, Stiles realized, just like any hunter would. _“Why is he alone now?”_

“He told us to run before he went down. He told us to run, so the alpha couldn’t get us.” It was a lie, sure, but Stiles was certain if Derek were capable of it, he would have said something along those lines. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I should have stayed, I know that. I panicked and I ran. I’m sorry.”

_“Where are you? Did the alpha follow you?”_

“No. I’m safe. Scott and I are safe.” All right, so that wasn’t entirely true either, but Bobby had more important things to do. “Just find Derek, Bobby. If he’s alive, he won’t be for long without his injuries being tended to. Find him, Bobby. Find your son.”

 _“I will.”_ The hunter assured him. _“We’ll talk about this later.”_

“Yep.” Stiles ended the call before he could do something stupid, like tell Bobby where he was and that he was essentially trapped.

“Why did you say that?” Scott groaned from the locker across from him. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”

“We left his son out there to die and ran away like pussies. We are not who he needs to be worried about.” If Derek had survived, he would need help fast, and that was what Bobby needed to focus on. “We’ll get out of here, we’re just not gonna use Bobby to do it.”

“What about the—“

“I’m not calling the Winchesters either. I’d let the alpha bite me before I set myself up to be lectured by _Dean_ of all people.” That would be a whole new level of humiliating. “No. We got ourselves into this, we’ll get ourselves out of it.” 

“The alpha is going to get in here at some point.” Scott murmured as the alpha banged against the door once more. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“We can’t exactly use my Jeep as the getaway vehicle.” Prior to taking refuge in the locker room, they’d tried a classroom. They stayed long enough to glance out the window and see that a chunk of the hood and engine were missing from Stiles Jeep. “Even if we can make it out of the school, we can’t out run it.”

“Maybe we can trap it somewhere and then barricade ourselves in another classroom or something.” Scott suggested, opening the door of the locker he was stuffed in. “We can lock the alpha in here. The door should hold long enough for us to get to another room.”

“Coaches office has two access points, one leading into here and one to the hall. We can lure the alpha in through the door it’s trying to break through already, and then we’ll bolt out through Coaches office.” It wasn’t the perfect plan, but it was the only option. “Both doors that lead out of the locker room will have to be shut once he’s in, though.”

“I’ll go through Coaches office first, while you lure the alpha in. Once it’s inside, I’ll go around and shut the locker room door, while you make a break for Coaches office.” Scott put the finishing touches on their plan while Stiles stepped out of his own locker. “Oh, and we’ll use Coaches desk to help block that door. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” He did not particularly like the idea of being the bait, but in this case, there was no way around it. “Let’s get this over with.”

While Scott made his way to Coaches office, Stiles peered through the glass panel on the locker room door. The alpha was lurking in the hall, ears twitching at the screech of Coaches desk being slid across the floor in preparation to be used as a blockade.

“Okay, Stiles. I’m ready.”

“Here we go.”

Stiles put as much space between he and the door as possible, while still being able to wrap his fingers around the handle. He jangled his keys in one hand to capture the alpha’s attention, and yanked open the door with the other, allowing the alpha to burst in unhindered. Stiles was off like a shot to Finstock’s office the moment its claws scraped against the linoleum of the locker room floor. He slammed the office door shut and shoved the desk up against it as quickly as he could.

“Yeah, that’s right. We got you!” Stiles taunted the beast as it snarled. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Stiles!” Scott barked from hall. “Come on!”

“I’m coming.”

He maturely refrained from sticking his tongue out at the wolf as he shuffled out of the office to meet Scott in the hall. His friend was pacing the length of the corridor, seeming more like the trapped animal he was with every minute they spent in the school.

“What’s wrong?” He felt like an idiot for asking given their current situation, but it was clear there was something else going on. “Besides the fact that we’re locked in here with a psychotic werewolf.”

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” The only thing Stiles could hear was the alpha breaking things in the locker room.

“It sounds like a phone ringing.” Scott inclined his head toward the sound. “I know that ring. It’s Allison’s phone! Give me your phone. I don’t have mine.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles hoped he was, but in the off chance that he wasn’t, he handed over his cellphone.

“She’s in the school.” Scott dialed the girl’s number on Stiles cell. “Come on.”

Scott took off down the hall, presumably in the direction Allison was in, while yapping at her on the phone. Stiles stalled for a moment, wondering if being the alpha’s chew toy would be less painful than how the night could go if he was going to be trapped in the school with more than just Scott. In the end, he resigned himself to putting up with _people_ rather than the killer werewolf.

“Damn it.”

He lumbered off in the same direction Scott had gone, and found the lovebirds in the school lobby, along with Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore. He didn’t acknowledge their presence beyond snatching his phone back from Scott, an easy task considering his friend was busy looking at something on Allison’s phone. Stiles found himself a quiet corner of the lobby, where he could have a semblance of privacy, as he dialed Dean’s number on his cell.

 _“What do you need, Stiles?”_ It was the first time they had spoken all day, and yet, there was already a heavy note of exasperation in the hunters tone.

“A rescue.” There was no other way to put it. “Scott and I are locked in the high school with an alpha that seems to enjoy hunting us.”

_“Are you serious?”_

“No, I’m making it up.” He would have rolled his eyes if Dean was there to see him to do it. “Of course I’m serious! Damn it, Dean, I need help.”

 _“Shit. I’m on my way.”_ The hunter caught on to the gravity of the situation. _“Bobby is closer. I’ll call him—“_

“No!” Stiles slammed the brakes on that idea. “He’s busy. Derek’s been hurt and that has to take priority for him. Do not tell him I’m in trouble. Derek needs him more than Scott and I need a rescue.”

 _“All right. Fine.”_ Dean ceded, albeit worriedly. _“I’ll be there, Stiles. I’m on my way, but I’ve got Sam, Jax, and Juice with me.”_

“Well, you don’t have time to drop my brother and Juice off.” Stiles doubted Dean would, even if he had the time. “Just don’t let them come in to the school. They are not equipped to deal with werewolves.”

 _“I will_ try _to leave them in the car.”_ He would take _try_ over a straight up _no_ any day. _“Sit tight. I’m coming.”_

“Thank you.” Relief flooded him and he shoved the phone into his jacket pocket, before turning to his friend to find out why there were three more people in the school after hours. “Scott, what are they doing here?”

“Someone sent Allison a text from my phone, telling her to meet me here.” Scott explained, showing him the message on Allison’s phone.

“And I guess the chunk taken out of my Jeep wasn’t enough of an indicator that something wasn’t right?” Seeing as it was dumb, daft, and the willfully stupid that had ignored the warning signs, he couldn’t really be surprised. “Nevermind, look who I’m talking to.”

Jackson looked ready to spew some half-assed comeback, but it was interrupted by an ominous creaking from above them. All at once, their eyes turned up toward the ceiling tiles, just in time for a cluster of them to give-way under the alpha’s weight, the beast landing on all fours as it hit the floor.

“Run!”

None of them had to be told twice, they bolted down the hall like their asses were on fire. For some reason, for which Stiles would plead temporary insanity later, they were letting Scott lead them to safety. Safety was a relative term under the circumstances, but it somehow meant hiding inside the cafeteria.

“Help me get this in front of the door.” Scott grabbed a hold of one of the lunch tables.

“Scott, wait.” Stiles could already see a very big problem with their new hiding place and the others would too if they bothered to look. “Not here.”

“What was that?” Allison’s alarmed voice boomed through the room. “Scott, what was that?”

“What came out of the ceiling?” A fearful Lydia asked as if she had not seen it with her own eyes.

“Will you just come help me?” Scott shoved a set of chairs against the doors. “The chairs, guys. Stack the chairs.”

“Guys, can we wait a second? You guys, listen to me.” Stiles might as well have been talking to a brick wall for the lack of response he received in return. “Guys? Stiles talking. Can we hang on one second, please?”

His pleas were ignored by the other teenagers, who continued to barricade the door. They didn’t catch on to the fact that Stiles wasn’t lifting a finger to assist them, just as they didn’t hear anything he was saying.

“Hello!” He shouted as a loudly as he could, startling the group. “Okay, nice work. Really beautiful job, everyone. Now, what should we do about the 20-foot wall of windows?”

He spread his arms wide in an animated gesture to the large windows lining the wall of the cafeteria. Windows that something, such as the beast that was after them, could easily break through.

“Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on, because I am freaking out here.” Allison blubbered, sounding close to tears. “And I would like to know why. Scott?”

“Somebody killed the janitor.” Stiles answered for his friend, revealing what, or who, he and Scott had found when they first entered the school. “Yeah, the janitor’s dead.”

“What?” Jackson scrunched up his face in confusion. “Who killed him?”

“No, no, no, no.” Lydia shook her head, panic overtaking her features. “This was supposed to be over. The mountain lion…”

“Don’t you get it? There was no mountain lion.” Jackson was surprisingly on point with that statement.

“Who is it?” Allison shrieked. “What does he want? What’s happening? Scott!”

“I-I don’t know. I just…” Scott stammered anxiously. “If we go out there, he’s gonna kill us.”

“Us?” Lydia shrilled. “He’s gonna kill us?”

“Who? Who is it?” Allison turned to Stiles for answers but this time he had none.

“It’s Derek. It’s Derek Hale.” Scott declared suddenly. “I saw him. Derek killed them. He killed all of them, starting with his own sister.”

“And the bus driver?” Allison asked, apparently misunderstanding the concept of ‘all.’

“And the guy in the video store. It’s been Derek the whole time.” Scott doubled down on his lie, pinning every recent murder in Beacon Hills on the other wolf. “He’s in here with us. If we don’t get out now, he’s going to kill us too.”

Stiles wanted to pop his friend for the shitty story he decided to spin. He understood Scott didn’t like Derek, but throwing him under the bus like that was a new low, even for him.

“Call the cops.” Jackson ordered, obviously his own phone was incapable of dialing 911.

“No.” That was the last thing Stiles would allow to happen. “Look, _someone_ killed the janitor, okay? We don’t know what they’re armed with.”

“Your dad is armed with the entire sheriff’s department.” Jackson argued, as if that would change his mind. “Call him.”

“I’m calling.” Lydia took her cellphone out of her purse.

“No! Lydia, would you just hold on a second?” Stiles reached for her phone, only to be forcibly pushed away by her douchebag boyfriend. “Damn it.”

“Yes, we’re at Beacon Hills High School. We’re trapped, and we need too…. But….” Lydia spoke in a rush to the dispatcher on the other end of the line, before her jaw dropped and she pulled the phone from her ear. “She hung up on me.”

“The police hung up on you?” Allison raised her brows in shock.

“She said they got a tip warning them that there were going to be prank calls about a break-in at the high school.” Lydia relayed, hysteria filling her tone. “She said if I called again they’re gonna trace it and have me arrested.”

“No, they won’t trace a cell.” The county sheriff’s department would not waste the time or resources on a prank call. “They’ll send a patrol car to your house before they send anyone here.”

“What…what is this?” Allison babbled agitatedly. “Why does Derek want to kill us? Why is he killing anyone?”

“Even if Derek was the one killing people, and that’s a big if.” Stiles was not saying that he was. “The reason _why_ is something you should probably ask your aunt Kate.”

“Stiles!” Scott scolded.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Allison’s expression hardened at his words.

“Nothing!” Scott said quickly, trying to stave off her concern. “He’s just…- He doesn’t do well in, um, closed spaces. It makes him nervous and…mean.”

“Okay, assheads. New plan. Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim.” Jackson laid out his piss poor idea that would only result in him getting his ass kicked if he pushed it. “Are we good with that?”

“Stiles, he’s right.” Scott continued his pattern of making the absolute worst decision imaginable by taking Whittemore’s side. “Tell him the truth if you have to, just call him.”

“Fuck no.” His so-called friend was denser than he ever realized he thought that would fly. “I’m not calling my dad.”

“Stiles,” Scott took him by the arm and pulled him off to the side of the cafeteria so they could speak privately. “The alpha will kill us if we stay here. Your dad knows about werewolves. He can help us.”

“He knows about them. He’s not trained to hunt them.” Wolfsbane bullets or not, his dad was not a hunter, unlike someone else’s father. “You know who is? Allison’s dad. Have her call him.”

“She doesn’t know about any of that and I don’t want to be the one to tell her.” No, of course not, that might put a strain on their already rocky relationship. “I’d have to tell her how I know. She’ll find out about me, about what I am.”

“Let me get this straight, instead of telling Allison the truth about her family, so she can call her _werewolf_ hunter father to come kill the alpha _werewolf_ , you would rather put my father’s _life_ at risk.” That made perfect sense, if you were a self-involved prick who only cared about keeping a pretty girls interest. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Stiles—“

“There are two ways it could go down if my dad comes here, the alpha turns him or kills him.” Neither were acceptable outcomes in Stiles mind, especially when all signs pointed to the latter. “Is that your big plan, Scott? Hmm? You want me to call my dad, so we can slip out the back while the alpha mauls him?”

“That is not what I meant!” Scott claimed weakly.

“I don’t give a shit what you meant. If you had your way, the endgame would be the same, my dad shows up here and is attacked by a murderous fucking werewolf.” That was exactly the kind of reckless crap Stiles should have expected from his best friend. “I’m not watching my dad get eaten alive. I am not calling him.”

“Give me the phone. I’ll call him.” Jackson declared, stomping toward them.

Jackson’s hand latched on Stiles shoulder, his intent clear. Stiles whirled around at the contact, slamming his fist against Jackson’s face, sending him stumbling back, gripping his injured nose. It was more instinctual than intentional, but it still felt good enough to make Stiles want to do it again. Luckily for Jackson, he found the strength to restrain himself.

“Jackson,” Allison rushed to the wusses side, while Lydia remained stationary and unaffected. “Are you okay? Hey, are you okay?”

“Nobody is calling my dad. He may be the sheriff, but I will not be the one to put him in danger.” Stiles would never be the person to put his dad in the line of fire, for any reason. “You are all more than welcome to invite your parents to be slaughtered, but I won’t. If any of you have a problem with that, you know where the door is.”

“Stiles, be reasonable.” Scott begged him. “We need help.”

“I called for help.” He just didn’t call his dad, like the filthy Judas wanted him to. “We just have to wait for them to get here.”

“When will that be?”

“Hopefully soon or I am going to be the one murdering every one still in this goddamn school.” Stiles wouldn’t even need the gun or knife stashed in his Jeep. He would use his bare hands to strangle or beat the life out of them. “I’m already picturing it. _Vividly_. You’re all screwed.”

* * *

 

Making a two-hour drive in less than one had to be a new record in Dean’s book. It probably would have taken longer if Jax hadn’t been yelling in his ear the entire trip, telling him to put his foot down and _‘go faster, motherfucker.’_ If Dean didn’t know what it was like to have a younger brother in danger, he might have thought Jax was seriously overreacting.

“Jax,” Dean sighed. ”This is probably gonna earn me a ‘ _fuck you,_ ’ but will you please calm down and take a breath?”

“Calm down? Fuck you.” Jax spit out. “My little brother is being hunted by a psychotic werewolf. If it were Sam—“

“I wouldn’t have bothered my brother at all. I can handle a wolf by myself.” Sam piped up from the backseat. “And Stiles didn’t call you for help either—“

“No, no. Don’t go there. Never go there.” Juice chastised the younger Winchester. “ _’Your brother doesn’t need you’_ is in the top five things you never, ever, say to Jax.”

“And fuck you too.” Jax snapped at Sam.

“If it were Sam, I’d be worried too.” Dean would just be a little calmer doing it. “Here’s the good news, Stiles knew he was in over his head, so he called for help, instead of trying to take care of it on his own.”

“Yeah, he called _you_.” Jax slumped down in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “He should have called me, I’m his brother.”

“I’m sorry, is that what you’re pissed off about? Your pride is stung because baby brother didn’t call you to save the day?” Dean should have known nothing could hurt Jax’s feeling more than being his little brother’s second choice. “He loves you, idiot. Stiles doesn’t put people he loves in danger, even to save himself. You know that.”

“I guess we know how he feels about you, then, since, you know, he called you.” Juice snickered. “He’s probably still pissed about you taking Jax on that hunt a few weeks back. Pitting you against the alpha is his version of payback.”

“Shut up. That’s not….” Dean trailed off, realizing that was exactly what the spiteful shithead would do. “Shut up.”

“Turn here!” Jax made a grab for steering wheel. “It’s right there!”

“Yes, Jax, I’m aware of where the school is.” Dean batted his hands away and turned the car into the parking lot. “Even if I didn’t, the big sign that says _Beacon Hills High School_ is a big tipoff.”

Dean pulled the Impala in beside the Jeep in the lot and they all piled out of it. Dean couldn’t help but cringe in sympathy at the damage done to Stiles vehicle, damage obviously made by large claws.

“Oh, he’s gonna be pissed.” The kid loved that Jeep almost as much as Dean loved the Impala.

“Everyone has wolfsbane bullets, right?” Sam asked as they started off toward the school.

“Yep.” Dean had distributed them before they left Charming. “You know, Jax, I told Stiles I would make you and Juice stay in the car, keep you out of trouble.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, especially stupid ass ones like that.” Jax commented while removing the gun from the waistband on his jeans. “Let’s go get my brother and his idiot friend, and possibly kill a werewolf.”

“Unless Scott has seriously moved up in the world,” Juice waved a hand toward the Porsche parked near the school entrance. “Then it’s more than just Stiles and Scott in there.”

“Great, civilians.” That was exactly what they needed right now. “Might as well get this over with, if we leave Stiles alone with some douche driving a Porsche, and he’ll be the one committing murder tonight.”

* * *

 

If they weren’t the ditzy chicks from a slasher flick before, they sure as hell were now. The alpha had successfully chased them out of the cafeteria, through the school kitchen, up the stairs to the second floor, and into the chemistry classroom. This time barricading the exit meant a single chair pushed against the door, as if that would prevent anything from breaking in.

Of course, even after all that, Scott was still actively campaigning for the spot of head ditz, apparently unaware that he already held that crown. Stiles friend had decided his supernatural strength was no match for the deadbolt on the door that led to the roof and fire escape, therefore eliminating one of the only routes of the room. He then decided the best course of action was to confront the alpha with nothing more than a thin wooden pointer from the chalkboard. However, others in the room, blessed with at least half a brain, were willing to give him an alternative, a self-igniting molotov cocktail.

If it were executed properly, the plan wouldn’t be that bad. It all hinged upon Lydia mixing the chemicals correctly and Scott not missing the mark when he threw it at the alpha. Stiles had more confidence in Lydia’s abilities than Scott’s, or at least he did until she started delegating duties to a certain someone.

“Jackson, hand me the sulfuric acid.” Lydia was making a valiant play for the head ditz title with that order.

“Oh my god.” Stiles smacked a palm to his forehead as he watched Jackson eye the bottles of chemicals on the table like they were two bombs about to explode. “Are you sure he is the person you want helping you?”

“Why not?” She accepted the bottle from Jackson and poured a generous amount into the cocktail mixture.

“You know, I always thought you put on this stupid girl act because you didn’t want to lose your social status.” It wasn’t even a self-esteem thing for her either. She just enjoyed playing the clichéd stereotype more than she liked having a brain. “But it’s not an act, is it? You really are an idiot.”

“Stiles!” Both Scott and Allison voiced their disapproval at him.

“Okay. I’ve finally had enough.” It was just good timing that Stiles would reach his limit shortly after he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala in the distance. “I’m done being yelled at for speaking my mind.”

“Maybe if you weren’t being so rude.” It was funny Allison would complain about his attitude, when her repeated blubbering of _‘what’s happening’_ had been a constant source of irritation for him all night.

“You’re probably right about that.” They would have to forgive his behavior, he got a little snippy when locked in a room with people who tried his patience. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to put up with it much longer. I’m leaving.”

“Stiles,” Scott stepped in front of him, preventing him from reaching the door. “You can’t leave. You know what’s out there.”

“Don’t you mean, _‘who is out there?’_ You did throw Derek under the bus for no reason other than your disdain for him. You could have told the truth, you have no idea who is killing people.” Stiles remarked in a low tone. “And, yes, I can leave. I _am_ leaving. You can all stay here trapped like rats.”

“Derek Hale is out there.” Allison thrust a finger at the door. “He has killed three people.”

“According to Scott,” Who, in Stiles opinion, was not the most reliable source for pertinent information. “I haven’t seen Derek Hale tonight. I haven’t seen or heard anyone beside those of us in this room. In fact, all I heard, besides your whining, was panting and growling coming from outside the door. So either the killer is seriously getting off on this or the only thing out there is a dog of some kind.”

“No, it was Derek Hale. Scott said it was Derek.” Allison looked to Scott for confirmation. “Right, Scott?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Scott stuck to his story. “It’s Derek.”

“Well, I’d love to stay and…well, okay, I don’t actually want to stay.” There was no reason to pretend any longer. “So, I’m gonna go.”

He shouldered past Scott, stopping at the desk Lydia and Jackson were huddled around. The redhead was swishing the beaker full of chemicals, mixing them together for Scott to use later. She looked quite proud of herself, he almost hated to burst her bubble.

“A word of advice when working with chemicals, always check the bottle before mixing it with another, no matter who your lab partner is.” Stiles offered an unimpressed gaze to the beaker. “That is not a molotov cocktail. Dumbass didn’t hand you the sulfuric acid. It won’t self-ignite. It’s just gonna be a puddle on the floor.”

Considering his work there done, Stiles made a break for the exit. Scott tried, once more, to stop him, but he was in no mood for his friend’s poor attempt at restraint. He shrugged the wolf off and pinned his ear to the door to listen for the alpha, hearing nothing but silence.

“All right.” He kicked the chair blocking the door out of the way and put his hand on the knob. “Well, see you guys later, if the mean doggy doesn’t get you.”

“Stiles, don’t do this,” Scott made a last ditch effort to keep him locked in with them. “It could kill you.”

“That’s not looking like such a bad thing. And it’s not going to happen.” Stiles had no plans to be mauled or killed by the alpha or anyone else in the near future. “I’m not staying here. I’m done listening to you lie about who is killing people, and listening to them bitch and moan about being here when they walked in on their own volition. So I’m leaving. Goodbye.”

He slipped out of the classroom before Scott or one of the others could get another word in. He slammed the door shut behind him and promptly stepped into a mess of goopy drool.

“Gross.” He shook his foot, trying to rid his shoe of the wet substance. “I guess I should be glad it’s not the alpha, just his drool.”

Stiles sidestepped the puddle and started off down the hall to the steps. He jogged down the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the main floor. From there, he made his way to the library, the only direction that did not have a trail of drool leading to or from it.

The out of place cart of books left outside the library made him suspicious. He glanced down the corridor that led to the school entrance, and debated making a run for it, when a creaking at the far end of the hall caught his attention. It was the gym doors, he deduced, watching them swing back and forth, as if something or someone had just pushed through it.

“Oh, that can’t be good.” Unless his rescue party had just started or ended their search of the gym, there was a good chance the alpha had just caught his scent.

All the sudden, the double doors behind him also swung open and a strong arm slithered around him. There was no time to react as a hand clapped over his mouth and he was yanked into the library. He regained his bearings enough to sinks his teeth into the very human hand and send his elbow back into his attackers jaw.

“Oh fuck. Ow!” A familiar voice grunted and released him.

“Sam?” Stiles twisted around to face the hunter. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I was trying to help you.” Sam rubbed his jaw line.

“I told you not to grab him.” Juice drawled as he appeared from behind the stacks. “Especially when he’s already on alert.”

“What are _you_ doing here, Juice?” Stiles specifically asked Dean to leave Jax and Juice in the car.

“Here to help.” Juice held his hands up in surrender. “Didn’t want you to get eaten by a werewolf.”

“My hero.” Later, when his annoyance wore off, he might find that sweet. “Where’s my brother?”

“We split up. He and Dean went in the opposite direction when we came in.” Sam relayed as he typed something out on his phone. “They’re on their way to us now.”

“Good. Sam, there’s a flight of stairs down the hall. Up them, at the end of the corridor, last room on the right, is the chem lab.” Stiles gave the younger Winchester a quick layout of the place. “There are four kids in their hiding. As much as I would like to leave them there indefinitely, I actually plan on having them spend the rest of their night at the station, preferably behind bars, but I’ll settle for them in interrogation room with their overpriced lawyers.”

“What the fuck did they do to you?” Juice questioned curiously.

“Oh, they wanted me to call my dad so we could escape while the alpha picked the flesh from his bones.” Call him crazy, but having his father offered up as bait did not sit well with Stiles. “Let’s just say I didn’t agree with that plan.”

“It might be safer to leave them up there.” Sam acknowledged blithely. “The alpha might be the lesser of evils here.”

“That’s true, but I wanna see how this plays out.” Juice grinned. “Sam, go get ‘em.”

“Yeah, I will.” The hunter agreed. “You two stay here.”

“No.” Stiles had done enough of the stay put thing. “I’ve been stuffed into a locker, trapped in a cafeteria, and barricaded in two separate classrooms. While being locked in a library is a dream of mine, I’m just not feeling it tonight.”

“Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t get killed.” Sam shook his head as he turned and marched out of the room.

Stiles leaned against one of the bookcases and allowed himself to take a breath for what felt like first time all night. He felt a warm hand on the small of his back, knuckles working out a knot that had formed there.

“You okay?” Juice asked, his fingers caressing the tension from Stiles body.

“Mhm.” He was still breathing and unharmed, overall perfectly fine. “Don't tell Gemma this, but I think she was right about what she said this morning."

“Right about what?”

“Me needing to make new friends.” He might need to take the betrayal thing to heart too. “Hey, do you know if Derek’s okay? Did Dean or Sam—“

“Sam called Bobby from the car. Derek’s hurt pretty bad, but he’ll heal.” Well, that was good news. “He’s gonna have to rest up for a few days.”

“That might not be an option.” If Scott and the rest of the group had their way, the entire sheriff’s department, along with the Argents, would be out hunting down Derek. “We’ll figure something else out for him.”

“Hey,” Juice dropped he hand from his back to wrap his fingers loosely around his wrist. “You okay?”

“You asked me that already.” His answer hadn’t changed since the first time.

“You look tired.” Juice observed, concern marring his otherwise handsome face. “Physically and emotionally drained.”

“I am.” He confessed. “I just can’t comprehend the shit that’s gone down tonight, and it’s got nothing to do with the alpha.”

“Who suggested bringing your dad in?” Juice read between the lines, caught on to what Stiles was struggling to process.

“Jackson Whittemore, and you know, I can let that go. He was under the impression that whatever was trying to kill us was human. He had no idea it could be something supernatural.” The punch Stiles had given him may have been punishment enough for that sin. “But Scott…Scott knew what we were up against. He knew that if my dad came here, he would more than likely be killed. Scott knew that and he still agreed with Jackson. He still wanted me to call my dad.”

“Scott either believes your dad is invincible,” Juice theorized sourly. “Or he thought your dad’s life was worth the risk.”

“My father was an acceptable loss to him.” Perhaps his friend believed the lives saved outweighed the one potentially lost. Stiles didn’t care about the motive, all he saw was the outcome, and it made his blood boil with rage. “I gotta get out of here.”

Overwhelmed by the feeling of being boxed in, Stiles made a beeline for the double doors, stalking into the hall with Juice following closely behind. They had two directions to choose from, right would take them to the stairs Stiles had come down not long ago, and forward would take them to the exit. Unfortunately, they were interrupted before they could make the obvious choice.

A loud roar echoed through both corridors as a large beast came barreling down the same hall that would have led them to freedom. Stiles hadn’t gotten a good look at it during their previous interactions, but he could see it clear as day now, and he wasn’t impressed. The alpha was something reminiscent of a cheaply CGI’d canine from some low budget, straight-to-DVD movie.

“Stiles! Juice! Run!” He heard Jax yell from the opposite hall, accompanied by two sets of footsteps running toward them.

Juice grabbed Stiles arm to pull him to safety, but Stiles was too pissed to stand down and play damsel in distress. Knowing Jax and Dean would not take a shot while he and Juice were in the line of fire, Stiles ripped his arm from the Sons grasp and snatched a book off the cart near the library. He bided his time, waiting until the alpha was in striking distance to whack it on the nose as hard as he could. The wolf yelped as the book made contact with his snout and scrambled back to put distance between them.

“No!” Stiles snapped at the alpha. “You had all night to kill me and everyone else in here. You pussy footed around and lost your shot. You do not get to kill me now!”

He popped the wolf with the book again for good measure. To his surprise, rather than attacking, the alpha whined and recoiled further.

“Get out of here! Go!” He moved like he would deliver another smack, and the wolf hastily obeyed his command, bolting down the hall and out the school entrance. “I should’ve tried that earlier.”

“If you had done that earlier, it probably would have killed you.” Juice noted, sagging against the library cart as Stiles dropped the book back onto it.

“Stiles, did you j-just….” Dean spluttered as he and Jax came up beside them. “Did you just hit the alpha on the nose like an unruly dog?”

“Yes.” He thought that was obvious. “It’s how I trained the club to behave. I took a chance on it working with a hybrid species.”

“You would hit club members on the nose?” Dean glanced dubiously at the two SAMCRO members present.

“Only when I didn’t have a water bottle handy.” A spritz of water usually did the trick, but in the rare instance that it didn’t, a rolled up newspaper was a good substitute.

“I never got hit or sprayed with anything.” Juice proclaimed, sounding both proud of that accomplishment and worried that he could break his streak one day.

“You never needed it.” To this day, there were only two members to avoid Stiles particular brand of punishment, Juice and Piney. “That’s why you always got a cookie. Jax is the one that usually got sprayed or smacked.”

“That was a bunch of bullshit too.” Jax rubbed his nose, as if he could still feel a phantom pain from a previous hit. “You should never have gotten to punish me like that for anything. I never spanked you for being a brat when you were a little kid.”

“You tried once.” Stiles recalled the vague memory. “Donna almost broke your jaw for even thinking about it.”

“Now that I do remember.” Dean cackled fondly. “For a small chick, she’s got one hell of a right hook.”

“Hey,” Sam called out as he and the other teenagers bounded down the hall from the stairwell. “What’s going on?”

“It’s all clear.” Dean informed his younger brother. “The, uh, bad guy took off.”

“Who are you people?” Allison’s eyes darted over the group of men she had never met before. “How did you know we were here?”

“I called them to come get _me_.” Stiles put a special emphasis on the ‘me’ part. “Be thankful they were nice enough to come for you too.”

“Thankful?” Lydia shrilled indignantly. “You left us to die!”

“I had he balls to leave.” It’s not like he waved a steak in front of the alpha’s face and threw it in the chemistry room with them. All he did was walk out the door. “You all chose to hide like cowards.”

“You left us to die!” The redhead repeated, her temper rising by the second. “You left us to be killed by Derek Hale. We’re going to the sheriff’s station to file a report about all of this, and we are going to tell them you left us.”

“You tell them your story, I’ll tell them mine.” Neither of their statements would be entirely accurate or truthful. “We’ll see which one the evidence fits.”

Lydia did not appreciate the challenge, if her scowl and the click of her high heels meant anything. Stiles resisted the urge to give her the finger as she, Allison, and Jackson started for the exit. Scott would have traipsed after them like a trained puppy, if Stiles hadn’t latched on to his arm to keep him in place.

“If you plan to stick to your story about Derek being behind all this, then you need to be prepared for the consequences.” Stiles warned his friend, hoping he would come to his senses and make the right choice. “It’s time to pick a side, Scott.”

“There are no sides, Stiles.” Scott wrenched his arm from Stiles lax grip with minimal effort. “We all want the same thing, to kill the alpha.”

“This isn’t about the alpha. This is about you protecting the family that wants you and every other werewolf dead,” He looked over his shoulder to see Allison’s retreating form. “While screwing over the people trying to help you.”

“Derek said the alpha wanted revenge. I think it wants revenge on Allison’s family. I have to protect her, to protect her family.” Scott insisted, as if the family who had a cache of weaponry in their garage were incapable of taking care of themselves. “I know you base your opinion on them by what Derek and Bobby have told you, but I don’t believe them. I’m going to protect the Argents from the alpha _and_ Derek. I know that’s not what you want to hear. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” There was no remorse in Scott’s expression and there was nothing apologetic in his tone to suggest he felt bad about his choice. So Stiles wasn’t going to feel bad about his either. “But you will be.”

“You should catch up with your friends, Scott.” Jax pointedly placed himself between them. “We’ll see you at the station.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Jax had been held at police stations on several occasions, and never once, in all those times, had he felt the tension leaking out of the people around him as strongly as he did now. Everyone sat on the edge of their seats, even the deputies in the bullpen were wound up tight, as if they were waiting for a fight to breakout. And it had all started when the parents began to show up.

Stilinski had already been at the station, tucked away in his office, working on a case. He didn’t even have a chance to greet his son before the other kids were in his face, screaming nonsensically about what they had been through. Stiles had to shout to get them to back off.

The stuck-up redhead and douche-looking blond’s parents had shown up first. The Martins and Whittemores were posh and refined at first glance. However, their demeanor shifted completely when they spotted the sheriff and began laying into him about what happened to their children. Stilinski had kept his own temper in check while trying to explain that the situation was being looked into.

Melissa McCall was next to arrive, fresh off work and still in her nurses scrubs. To her credit, she was nicer in her attempts to question the sheriff, but Stiles had been quick to step in and shut her down before she could get very far. He coldly advised her to ask her son if she wanted answers. The woman was taken aback by Stiles harsh tone, but ultimately retreated to the corner of the room to speak to Scott about what he had gotten himself into.

The Argents were the last to show. Unlike the other parents, they didn’t bother with the sheriff. They got their answers straight from the horse’s mouth, their daughter Allison. Whatever she told them must have struck a nerve if the glares they shot Scott and Stiles were anything to go by.

Once everyone was present and accounted for, settled into the uncomfortable seats, a deputy took control of the situation.

“I’m Deputy Tara Graeme.” The woman introduced herself to the group, offering a small nod to those she already knew. “I will be leading the investigation into what transpired tonight.”

Sheriff Stilinski was forced to recuse himself from the case. He could have no professional involvement when his son was mixed up in it. It was clear from the way John ground his teeth that he was not pleased with being sidelined.

“The county crime lab is currently collecting evidence at the high school.” Deputy Graeme’s disclosed, and Jax decided he absolutely did not want to know why her words had a smirk forming on his little brother’s lips. “What I would like to do now is take each of you back, one at a time, to get your official statements on record.”

“I’ll go first.” Lydia volunteered, standing from her seat. “I want to get this over with so I can go home.”

“That’s fine.” Graeme’s pushed open the door to the sheriff’s office. “Your parents are welcome to join us if that would make you more comfortable.”

As the deputy and the Martins disappeared into the office, Jax averted his attention to the Argents. The wife’s focus was split between comforting Allison and scowling at the McCalls. Chris, on the other hand, could not stop staring at Jax out of the corner of his eye.

“Something wrong, Chris?” Jax casually stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles.

“I’m just wondering what you’re doing here and what you were doing at the school tonight.” Chris voiced his suspicions about Jax.

“I called him.” Stiles interjected, narrowing his eyes at the hunter. “Apparently, I trust him to drop everything to come get me, more than your daughter trusts you.”

“Who is he?” Allison ignored the dig to question Jax’s identity. “Who are any of them?”

“They look like thugs.” Whittemore commented judgmentally.

“This is my brother.” Stiles knocked his shoulder against Jax’s. “And these are our friends, Juice, Dean, and Sam.”

“Why would you call them and not your rent-a-cop father?” Whittemore’s father asked in the same snotty tone his son had used.

“ _They_ wanted me to call my dad.” Stiles leveled his classmates with a withering glare. “I wasn’t going to let them hurt him.”

“We weren’t going to hurt anybody.” Scott claimed ruefully, hurt by the accusation.

“There is a reason witnesses are usually kept separate until their statements are given.” Sheriff Stilinski spoke over the teenagers to put an end to the chatter. “You are not supposed to speak to each other. The station does not have enough space to isolate you, so try not to talk to one another, kids.”

“So Chris,” Since he was neither a kid nor a witness, Jax figured he was free to speak. “Have you decided on a destination for that trip your family’s taking?”

“Trip?” Allison’s perplexed expression meant either Chris didn’t plan on leaving or he had yet to tell his daughter about it. “Dad, are we going somewhere?”

“Your dad and I talked about it after the school conferences.” Jax told the girl. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yep.” After the night’s events, Jax felt it was necessary to alter the timetable.

* * *

 

Contrary to popular belief, Stiles could be a very patient person. He had remained calm and collected as Lydia, Jackson, Allison, and finally Scott were taken back, one-by-one, to be interviewed. He didn’t let himself worry about the tale they were spinning for Deputy Graeme, he focused on his own story. He had it all written in his head by the time it was his turn to give his statement.

In the privacy of the office, Stiles couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable Deputy Graeme’s looked sitting in the sheriff’s chair, while the man himself was on the other side of his own desk. He couldn’t blame her, he to found it odd to have his dad sitting beside him, in he chairs reserved for visitors, instead of in his usual seat.

“Okay, Stiles,” Deputy Graeme pulled the computer keyboard closer to her as she prepared to take down the information he gave her. “Let’s start with why you were at the school after hours.”

“Scott asked me to give him a ride.” That part wasn’t a lie, although the next part would be. “He was meeting Allison.”

“Why would they be meeting at the school in the middle of the night?”

“I’m not sure.” There was no plausible reason for any of them to have been there. “A date, maybe. That was the assumption I was under.”

“The doors to the school are locked at night.” Graeme’s mentioned. “How did you get in?”

“They were unlocked when we got there.”

“That lines up with what your friends said.” The deputy said approvingly. “So Scott wanted a ride. Why did you stay? Why didn’t you just drop him off?”

“He asked me to stick around until Allison showed up. Being at the school, alone, at night creeped him out.” It was a believable enough scenario.

“When did Derek Hale arrive?” Graeme inquired, glancing over highlighted portions of the statements she had already been given. “Was it before or after Allison Argent, Lydia Martin, and Jackson Whittemore showed up?”

“Derek Hale?” Stiles brows knitted together in a frown. “I haven’t seen Derek Hale all day.”

“You relinquished your cellphone when you came in,” She removed the evidence bag that held Stiles phone from a drawer and set it on the desk. “You gave us permission to check your call and text logs. You called Derek Hale’s father, Robert Singer, earlier this evening. Why?”

“I was worried about Derek.” He still was, even when he knew Derek would be all right. “He never answers his phone, so I called his dad to see if everything was cool, and it was.”

“Why were you worried about him? Did something happen?”

“Aside from his sister being murdered? Yeah. The Argents have been harassing him on a daily basis.” So, yes, things had happened that would cause any decent person to worry. “With Allison out with friends, I was wondering if the rest of her family would be spending the night using their rifles to accost Derek or Mr. Singer.”

“Derek Hale and Robert Singer were in this afternoon to file complaints about the ongoing harassment.” Graeme offered information that corroborated his story. “So you did not see Derek Hale tonight?”

“No, I have not seen him.” And nothing anyone said or did could get him to say otherwise. “Why do you keep asking me about Derek Hale? What does he have to do with anything?”

“In your classmates statements, the four of them allege that Derek Hale chased you and Scott McCall into the school, killed the janitor, and trapped all of you in a classroom.” The deputy revealed. “You don’t agree with that?”

“Scott and I walked into the school all on our own.” The first time they had, anyway. “We were chased into a classroom, but not until the others showed up, and not by Derek Hale. It was a dog.”

“A dog?”

“A very big, very pissed off dog.” A wolf, a dog, honestly who could tell when it was so dark? “It left drool everywhere. I stepped in some on my way out.”

“The crime lab did take samples of a substance consistent with drool. It still has to be tested to determine if that is what it actually is.” Graeme looked over the updated copy of the evidence log. “I never took you as the type to be afraid of a dog. Didn’t you have one growing up?”

“He did. We did. Her name was Sarge. She was German Sheppard retired from the K9 unit.” His dad chimed in, pointing to a picture on the wall of him and Sarge, both in uniform, taken before Stiles birth and Sarge’s retirement. “She was killed by another dog when Stiles was seven.”

“She was protecting me and Scott.” The other dog had killed Scott’s new puppy, Roxy, first, and injured Sarge so badly that the only humane thing to do was put her down. “The other dog wasn’t the only one to blame. Scott’s drunk father came out waving a gun, aimed for the wild dog, but got Sarge instead, nearly clipped Scott too.”

“Drunk feds and rabid dogs, those are what Stiles is afraid of.” His father added, which Stiles did not totally agree with.

“I’m not afraid of Rafael McCall.” There was nothing scary about that asshole. “Rabid dogs, sure, but that’s just common sense.”

“So, a dog trapped the five of you in the chemistry classroom on the second floor.” The deputy brought the conversation back around. “What happened next?”

“I started to suspect they did not want inside the school for some weird double-date.” Who the hell would choose an empty school for a date, anyhow?

“What made you think that?”

“Jackson Whittemore broke the glass panel on the case that held all the chemicals we use in class.” He would bet the others had left that part out of their statements. “And Lydia Martin began mixing some of them together.”

“For what purpose?” Graeme asked as she sent off a quick text on her phone.

“She said she was trying to make self-igniting molotov cocktail.” _Trying_ was the operative word there. “Jackson was helping her, but he mixed up which bottle had the sulfuric acid. I wasn’t going to be the one to point that out to her.”

“Why would they be making an incendiary device?”

“I don’t know. I was afraid to ask.” He wasn’t afraid to put a few theories out there for her. “It could have been for fun. Maybe they were gonna take it out to the woods and have a ceremonial burning or something. I don’t know. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful about that.”

“It’s okay, Stiles.” Deputy Graeme smiled softy. “Jackson Whittemore claims that you hit him.”

“Yes, I did.” He was too proud of that to deny it. “He was trying to take my phone. He grabbed me from behind. I reacted.”

“Why did he want your phone? He had one of his own.”

“He wanted my dad’s personal number, so he could call him.” Stiles clenched his fist at the memory. “They wanted me to call him, to get him to come to the school, but I refused. Jackson decided to take my phone and make the call himself.”

“Why did he want your father there so badly?” Graeme’s gaze flickered to his dad momentarily. “To take care of the dog outside the classroom? Animal control might have been better suited for that.”

“They said it was because of the dog, but I didn’t believe them. The only thing I could think was that, maybe, they wanted to use the molotov cocktail to hurt him.” If it weren’t a lie, it would be pure speculation, but that wouldn’t matter if the evidence and motive supported it. “I mean, it’s no secret that Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore and Mr. and Mrs. Martin don’t like my dad. He doesn’t bow down to them because of their wealth or status.”

“You think Lydia and Jackson would hurt your father, because he didn’t get along with their parents?”

“Rich kids are always looking for their parent’s attention and approval.” That was how they were most often portrayed in television and film. “If they were to kill or seriously injure someone their parents saw as an enemy, their parents would see them as more than trophy kids they have to throw money at.”

“That’s a very troubling theory.” Graeme’s noted worriedly. “And a very serious accusation.”

“I know that.” Any accusation thrown at the two most prominent families in town would be considered serious. “I know it’s unlikely, but I couldn’t think of another reason for them to want my dad there. And with all that’s happened lately, the murders in town, the mountain lion at the school conferences…I was just scared. I was so scared they were going to hurt my dad.”

“You were frightened for you father but not your brother? You did call him to the school.” She checked her notes once more. “Or, excuse me, you placed a call to a Dean W, as he’s listed in your phone. He is one of the men out in the lobby. What is your relationship to him?”

“He and my brother have been friends since high school.” Thinking about it now, he should have used an alias when adding Dean as a contact in his phone. “Jax always forgets to charge his phone. I knew they were all out having a guys night, so I just called Dean for a ride.”

“So by that time, you were aware that your Jeep had been tampered with?”

“I could see the extent of the damage from the classroom window.” Even with his employee discount at TM and doing the work himself, it would be a costly fix. “It was perfectly fine when Scott and I went into the school. I don’t even know what could do something like that to a car.”

“Actually, we found fingerprints in the gouges on the hood.” Graeme handed showed them a crime scene photo of the claw marks scratched into the metal of the Jeep. “The lab already ran those, they came back as a match to Jackson Whittemore.”

“Really?” Oh, that was too good. Stiles didn’t even have to manufacture evidence, the dumbasses he’d been locked in the school with were digging their own graves to prove his _theories.’_ “I can’t imagine _how_ he could have done that, but I’m not surprised. He does hate me.”

“It’s something I’ll have to talk to him about in our next interview.” Graeme’s scribbled down Whittemore’s name on a sheet of paper. “Now, Lydia Martin claims you left she and your other friends to die.”

“I didn’t leave until I was sure the dog was gone.” He hadn’t been worried about the alpha, if it had wanted to kill him, it had plenty of chances earlier in the evening. “I wasn’t comfortable with them making molotov cocktails. I just really wanted to get out of there, so I left as soon as I felt it was safe.”

“That’s understandable.” The deputy nodded sympathetically. “Your friends did not mention the molotov cocktail.”

“Unless they cleaned everything up and fixed the panel on chemical cupboard, then it should all still be out in the chemistry room.” Stiles had only been separated from them for five, ten minutes at the most while they were at the school, there wasn’t enough time for them to get rid of the evidence.

“The techs did find a beaker and bottles of chemicals on a table in the chemistry room. They’re still finger printing and running chemical analysis on all of it.” Graeme’s said as she read off a message from her phone. ”Do you have any idea why your friends would not be forthcoming with that information?”

“No answer they could give would be a good answer.” Especially considering who they were placing the blame on. “Their story is that Derek Hale was terrorizing them, right? If they said they were making it to defend themselves, then they were basically admitting to choosing to set a guy on fire, instead of overpowering him. Derek Hale is just one person. They outnumbered him. Using a self-igniting molotov cocktail on a guy whose family died in a fire, seems a bit extreme. They could have easily taken him down by hitting him with a chair or desk.”

“And you are absolutely sure you didn’t see Derek Hale at the school tonight?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” How many times did he have to say it? “The school has security cameras inside and in the parking lot. Can’t you just check those?”

“The entire system has been down for a month.” Deputy Graeme stated grimly. “A software update caused it to crash and they haven’t had any luck getting it up and running again.”

“That is why I recommended they hire security personnel, temporarily, until the cameras were working again.” His dad muttered irritably. “The PTA thought it would send the wrong message. Security guards on sight would make our schools seem unsafe.”

“That explains your multiple drive-bys and walk-through’s during the school day.” Sometimes it felt like he saw his dad more during school hours than he did when they were at home. “Makes you miss that private school I went to for a semesters in sixth grade, doesn’t it? They took their security very seriously.”

“I’ve been very tempted to call and beg them to allow you to re-enroll.” His dad confessed. The only problem with that was how expensive it was to attend Beacon Hills Academy. “I doubt they’d offer you another scholarship. Gemma would have to help with the tuition.”

“Well, that’s not gonna happen.” Gemma hadn’t even paid child support on him. “Tara— Deputy Graeme, are you done with me?”

“For now, yes. I just need you to sign this.” She handed him a file and a pen. “It’s just acknowledging that the statement you’ve given is accurate and truthful, and not made under duress.”

“Okay.” He signed his formal name on the dotted line. “Can I have my phone back or do you still need it?”

“You can have it.” The deputy passed him the bag that held his phone. “Your Jeep is staying with us. It’s still evidence.”

“Fine.” It’s not like he could drive it in its current condition anyway.

“I have a few things to finish here.” His dad cast a subtle glance toward the lobby, alluding to what he had to wrap up. “I don’t want you to be alone tonight. You can stay here or you can go to your brother’s house for the night.”

“I’ll go with Jax.” He wanted to stay with his father, but he knew his dad wanted him as far away from Beacon Hills as he could get after what had happened. “You’re gonna work from the station, right? You’re not going on a call out or—“

“I’ll make sure he stays put.” Graeme’s assured him as they all stood from their seats. “I’ll even give him a police escort home, if he doesn’t fall asleep at his desk.”

“Thank you.” At least someone in the department understood his over protectiveness of his father.

“Stiles, I want you to call me when you get to Charming.” His dad requested, pulling open the door.

“I will.” He promised as they stepped out of the office and into the lobby where the other kids and their parents were waiting impatiently to be allowed to leave.

“Actually, Stiles, I do have one more question for you.” Deputy Graeme’s announced before he could make it to his brother’s side. “I know you and Scott have been friends for awhile. You arrived at the school together and remained together up until you decided to leave. That’s pretty much the only part of your statements that match up. Why do you think that is?”

“Scott rode to the station with Allison, Lydia, and Jackson.” The time it took to get from the school to the station was long enough for minds to be poisoned. “I’m sure they all used the ride to get their stories straight.”

“And he just decided to go along with the story about Derek Hale being a murderer?” Graeme didn’t seem to buy the party line about Derek, probably because the evidence on hand did not support that particular theory. “Why?”

“The weak-willed tend to follow the herd mentality.” Stiles couldn’t resist taking a cheap shot at Scott. “And I’m sure Allison had a hand in fabricating that story, it’s her family that has some kind of vendetta against Derek. She and Scott are dating. Do you really think a teenage boy is going to go against the only girl who has ever slept with him?”

“Stiles!” Scott cried out like a scandalized prude. “You—“

“Are free to go. I will call you if I have any more questions.” Deputy Graeme interrupted before an argument could start. “The rest of you will be sticking around for a while. You might want to consider calling your lawyers. Some of the evidence has come back and it doesn’t look good.”

* * *

 

Leaving Beacon Hills was a far more tedious task than traveling into the town. After spending what felt like hours at the sheriff’s station, Dean thought they would be free to return to Charming, unfortunately, he had been wrong. Bobby had called before they hit the county line and asked them to pick up Derek on their way out of town.

The elder hunter was worried about retaliation, that the Argents would target his son for the alpha’s crimes. On a normal day, Derek would have been able to hold his own against those who wanted to harm him, but his current injuries left him more or less incapacitated. With that in mind, Dean couldn’t deny Bobby’s request, and had swung by the motel to get Derek before they left for Charming.

With the extra passenger on board, the Impala was packed pretty tight for the trip home. Dean and Sam had somehow managed to fit Derek between them in the front seat, while Jax, Stiles, and Juice were stuffed into the back. The close quarters and constant movement of the car seemed to aggravate Derek’s slow-healing wound, he grunted in pain with every turn they made. The only person who didn’t appear bothered with being squeezed into the middle seat was Stiles.

The stress of the evening had caught up with Stiles almost as soon as they had piled into the Impala. He had buckled his seatbelt and his eyes had immediately begun to droop as he quickly fell to sleep. Now he was snoring softly with his head resting on Jax’s shoulder.

“Crazy shit tonight.” Dean broke the heavy silence that had fallen over the car. “Can’t imagine what Stiles could’ve told that deputy to warrant all his friends needing lawyers.”

“Probably more of the truth than those other little bastards.” Jax remarked coldly. “With some bigger lies to make sure they knew not to fuck with him again.”

“Probably.” When the kid wanted to teach someone a lesson, he made damn sure they wouldn’t forget it. “Sometimes I forget how terrifying he can be.”

“Him? Terrifying?” Derek scoffed, sending a dubious glance to Stiles in the backseat.

“Tig and Kozik babysat him once when he was four. They decided to take him to the park. He had them arrested for kidnapping.” Jax scoured the far reaches of his memory to find that old story. “Every cop in Charming PD knew Tig and Kozik, knew they would never kidnap some kid. Stiles, though, he was very convincing with his crocodile tears.”

“He only did that after they clipped a leash to the back of his overalls and walked him around the park like a dog.” Dean had the good fortune of being in Charming when all that went down. “They earned that retaliation. I mean, okay, having them arrested was a little much, but it got the point across. And Stiles put a stop to it before they could go to jail.”

“He convinced the judge that Tig and Kozik were too stupid to know what they did was wrong, so they couldn’t be held accountable for their actions.” Jax reminded him of just how those charges had been dropped. “They never volunteered to babysit Stiles again.”

“In other words, don’t underestimate him.” Juice summed up what Jax was trying to say with his story. “There’s a reason we all try to stay on his good side.”

“His buddy Scott is the only one who doesn’t understand that.” Sam commented as he fiddled with his phone. “Well, Scott and Dean.”

“Hey, I know not to poke the bear.” Dean would not put it passed the kid to send an anonymous tip to the feds about a fugitive taking up residence in Charming, if he happened to step out of line. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Yeah, that’s why you took Jax with us on that hunt tonight, and used him as bait.” Sam took far too much enjoyment in pointing out the key mistake Dean had made earlier in the day. “Didn’t he just bitch you out for something similar a few weeks back?”

“Shut up! He could hear you.” Dean did not need that kid to have the upper hand. “You know he fakes sleep sometimes so he can listen in on our conversations.”

“You just sound paranoid.” Derek noted, a hint of concern in his tone. “He’s just a kid. He can’t be that dangerous.”

“You’re new. You’ll learn.” Juice acknowledged condescendingly. “That dangerous and manipulative part of him is why the cops didn’t drag you into the station tonight.”

“They will at some point, though.” Jax warned the younger man. “They have to follow all leads, even the ones that don’t hold a lot of weight.”

“I was gutted.” Derek pinched a section of his shirt that was coated in blood. “I’m a victim, not a suspect.”

“That’s not the story Scott and the other kids were telling the deputy in charge.” Dean let the wolf know what they had overheard during their long stay at the station. “Stiles is the only one who said you weren’t even at the school. The cops are gonna talk to you at some point, but John’s going to hold them off until you don’t look half dead.”

“Dean,” Sam reached around Derek to smack him on the chest. “The bartender from Spider texted me. He’s got an address on the vampire we’ve been looking for. He’s staying at Pine Village, whatever that is.”

“They’re rent by the week apartments on Lake St.” Jax told them. “Perfect for the sleazebag in town for a short time.”

“You guys mind if we make a pit stop to take care of the vamp?”

“Go ahead, man.”

It didn’t take long to find the complex once they got into town. The place was a few blocks short of Jax’s house, and a little too close to Charming PD for comfort but some things couldn’t be helped. It was also a dump, falling apart at the shingles.

“Okay,” Dean parked the Impala at the curb. “Sam and I will go in, the rest of you wait here.”

“Not a chance in hell.” Jax objected. “You’re not going in without me. You don’t know how many vamps are actually in there. You need backup.”

“I’m gonna make this simple for you, Jax.” It was late and he was too tired to argue about it. “You get out of this car and Stiles will follow right after.”

“He’s asleep.” Jax was lying to himself if he thought Stiles would not wake the moment he tried to get out the car. “If he does wake up, Juice will make sure he stays put.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll work.” Juice snorted at the task handed down to him.

“Stiles would sock Juice in the nuts then scramble out of the car before he could recover to stop him.” Dean was not exaggerating either. He had seen it happen before, except Stiles had been nine at the time and Happy had been on the receiving end of his fist. “You want your brother to be safe then you have to be safe. You are staying put.”

“Fine.”

Sam and Dean climbed out of the Impala, retrieved the machetes from the trunk, and silently crept to the ground floor corner apartment. The door was slightly ajar, making it easy for them to slip inside. However, they weren’t fully prepared for what they found.

The bodies of the missing girls were hanging from the ceiling by their bound hands, and missing their heads. The vampire, Dixon, was kneeling in front of them with tears streaming down his face.

“Go ahead. Do it.” The vampire bowed his head, choosing not to fight a losing battle. “Kill me.”

“What happened here?” Sam gestured to the bodies.

“Gordon Walker.” Dixon sneered. “I never should have brought a hunter here. Never. I just…I just wanted some kind of revenge. It was stupid, exposing him to my family.”

“Oh yeah, you’re such a family man.” Dean ridiculed the vamp.

“You don’t understand. I was desperate.” Dixon wailed mournfully. “You ever felt desperate? I’ve lost everyone I ever loved. I’m staring down eternity alone. Can you think of a worse hell?”

“Well, there’s hell.” Dean would be spending an eternity in the pit, all by himself. It was a fate much worse than spending that time alone on earth.

“I wasn’t thinking. I just didn’t care anymore. Do you know what it’s like when you just don’t give a damn? It’s like being dead already. So go ahead.” The vamp stared pointedly at Dean’s weapon. “Do it.”

“Dean, these heads weren’t cut off, they were ripped off by someone’s bare hands.” Sam inspected the hanging bodies. “Dixon, what did you do to Gordon?”

“I made him a part of my family.” Dixon gazed up at the dead girls. “This is how he repaid me.”

“You turned him? You turned a psychotic hunter into a vampire?” In a world of stupid ideas, that one took the cake. “If you’re really that stupid, then we’re doing you a favor by putting you out of your misery.”

Dixon said nothing, only returned his head to its bowed position. Dean brought the machete down on its neck, slicing the vamps head off in a swift movement.

“Sammy, go get Juice.” They were gonna need help cleaning up this mess in a timely fashion. “And the body disposal supplies.”

“Yep.”

* * *

 

Stiles awoke to someone rudely hauling him out of the Impala’s backseat. His first instinct was to fight back, until he caught a whiff of the cheap cologne his brother wore, and realized he was safe and sound. He let himself be half-carried/half-dragged into the house while trying to regain some semblance of consciousness.

“You good?” Jax asked as he helped steady Stiles on his feet.

“I think so.” He mumbled tiredly, glancing around the living room to see what was going on.

Sam was settling Derek onto the couch, fussing over the injured man, going as far as to offer him a pillow to make him more comfortable. Dean had begun ridding himself of the weapons he had stashed on him, while Jax shucked of his kutte and draped it over the armchair. There was one person missing from the group.

“Where’s Juice?” Stiles had no recollection of him getting out of the car after they left Beacon Hills.

“We dropped him off at his place after we dealt with a vampire problem.” Dean said as he continued depositing guns and knives onto the coffee table. “You were asleep.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Jax glowered at the bloodstained machetes the Winchesters discarded haphazardly onto his furniture. “We just talked about this. Clean your shit before you bring it inside.”

“I brought ‘em in so I could clean them!”

Deciding he did not want to listen to Jax and Dean bicker all night, Stiles wandered down the hall to his bedroom. The door was wide open, unlike how he remembered leaving it, but he didn’t think much of it, assuming Jax had gone in for one reason or another. It wasn’t until he flicked on the light that he realized something was amiss.

The window on the far wall was broken from the outside, the glass scattered across his desk and the floor. The dresser drawers were all open, his clothing tossed around like someone had been conducting a raid. Even his mattress was overturned. And then, of course, there was the elephant in the room, the man standing at the foot of his bed.

The intruder was bent over a wooden chest that had been safely hidden away in the closet. John Winchester had put it together for him after he figured out the supernatural was real. Back then, it only held holy water and salt, it had since been filled with a wide variety of items, ranging from books to weapons, thanks to Sam and Dean.

“Who are you?” Stiles hoped being straightforward with the guy would move things along so he could get to bed.

“Gordon Walker.” The man turned toward him, his fangs on full display. “I’m looking for the hunters that stock this box you have.”

“Oh. Okay.” Well, he wouldn’t want to disappoint the guy, not after he’d gone through the trouble of breaking into the house and destroying Stiles room. “I’ll get them. Wait here.”

Not feeling the urgency of the situation, Stiles took his time retreating down the hall, back to the living room where things were as he had left them. Jax and Dean were bitching each other out, while Sam and Derek watched the war of words with expressions of overwhelming boredom on their faces.

“Jax,” Stiles tugged on his brother’s shirtsleeve. “There’s a vampire in my bedroom.”

There was no explanation necessary if the reaction the admission garnered meant anything. Jax shoved him onto the couch, snatching the Winchester’s special Colt from the coffee table, and bolting down the hall. Sam and Dean were hot on his tail, quickly grabbing their machetes and taking off after him.

“Is it always like this?” Derek questioned as shouts and grunts echoed through the house, followed by a single gunshot.

“For Jax and me? No.” That particular brand of crazy was primarily a Winchester thing. “Sam and Dean? Yeah. They’re magnets for it.”

“Good to know.”

“Hey, um, I’m sorry.” He ducked his head in shame. “I’m sorry for running away after the alpha attacked you. I should have stayed to help you.”

“You were right to go. The alpha would have killed you or made Scott do it.” The wolf reasoned thoughtfully. “You got away and called my dad. I’d probably be dead if you hadn’t done that.”

“All right, kids, that’s taken care of.” Dean sauntered back in with a grin on his face, and Sam and Jax at his side. They all seemed a little too happy about what had been ‘taken care of’ in Stiles room. “I know you’re probably tired and want to get some sleep, but, uh, Stiles, you’re gonna have to wait to crash until your room is cleaned up.”

“You mean, you are sleeping in my room tonight and I’m sharing with my brother.” He sure as hell wasn’t going to wait all night for them to do clean up. “Derek can sleep on the couch in the nursery. Sam can take the sofa here in the living room.”

“Fine.” Dean sighed and dropped the machete back into the coffee table. “Before anyone goes to bed, we’re all gonna talk. Do you two want to explain what the hell you were doing tonight?”

“He was nearly murdered.” Stiles jerked a thumb to Derek. “I was trapped in the high school with a bunch of idiots.”

“What were you doing at the school in the first place?” Sam clarified the question.

“Oh, well, you see, Derek thought Scott’s boss, Deaton, could be the alpha.” It wasn’t a huge leap to think Deaton could be involved somehow. He did always seem to know more than he let on. “To prove he wasn’t, Scott had the bright idea to call for the alpha by howling through the school’s PA system.”

“It obviously worked.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and looked down his nose at Stiles. “Is there a reason you didn’t shoot the alpha while its attention was on Derek? I gave you a gun and wolfsbane bullets. Why didn’t you use them?”

“Uh,” That was a great question, it was too bad he did not have an equally great answer. “My gun was, um, in…the Jeep.”

“You went to the school, with the intent to draw out the alpha,” The hunter summarized what Stiles had told him. “And decided to leave your gun in the car?”

“What? No, no, no.” Well, technically yes, but there was a perfectly reasonable explanation, he just hadn’t thought of it yet. “ _I_ didn’t leave it in the car. I, um, I…need to phone a friend?”

“Why?” Dean cocked his head to the side, expression morphing from disapproval to amusement and back again. “You need help coming up with your story?”

“It was Scott’s fault.” Derek jumped in with a formidable excuse. “He wouldn’t let Stiles grab it from the Jeep. He said he wouldn’t help call the alpha it we planned to kill it.”

“And you listened to him?” Sam asked incredulously.

“I needed to find the alpha, to at least figure out who it is.” Derek shrugged. “And I didn’t want to listen to that kid whine all night about how killing is wrong.”

“Okay, I’ll accept that. Scott’s voice does grate.” Dean let the wolf off the hook and zeroed in on Stiles once more. “You, on the other hand, have put up with Scott’s bitching for years. You’re immune to it. Why would you listen to him?”

“Well, uh,” Somehow, he didn’t think ‘it was the path of least resistance’ would be the right answer. “Scott is a supernatural creature now. He’s fully capable of overpowering me and his control isn’t that great. I didn’t want to risk being mauled when I went for my gun.”

“You didn’t want to risk being mauled?” Dean chuckled darkly. “This coming from a kid who smacked the alpha on the snout with a book. _Twice_.”

“You did what?” Derek raised his brows in shock.

“The alpha’s a pussy.” Whatever fear Stiles had for the beast had fizzled by the end of the night. “If anything, that proves I didn’t need the gun.”

“This isn’t a goddamn game, Stiles!” Dean snapped harshly, any amusement about the situation being sucked out of the room. “You know better than to go after something like that unarmed, or at all.”

“Yes, he does. He gets it and won’t do it again.” Jax stepped between them, placing a firm hand on Dean’s chest. “So back off.”

“Your little brother could have been killed or turned into a damn werewolf tonight.” Dean snarled in Jax’s face. “Going out there with or without his gun was reckless.”

“Reckless…” Jax rolled the word on his tongue. “You know what else could be considered reckless? You volunteering me as bait for a vampire with a predilection for hot blondes.”

“I’m sorry?” Stiles really hoped, for Dean’s sake, that he hadn’t heard that correctly. “Dean did what?”

“Uh oh.” Sam murmured to himself as he sat down next Derek.

“Why, Jax?” Dean groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Why would you tell him that?”

“I’m leveling the playing field.” Jackson Teller, always the pragmatist. “He’s had a rough night and you’re prolonging it by being an ass when you don’t have to be.”

“You’re a prick.”

“You had my brother playing bait?” Stiles jumped to his feet and grabbed two handfuls of Dean’s leather jacket, just as he had the last time the hunter took his brother on a trip to kill monsters. “Are you out of your mind?”

“He was perfectly safe the entire time.” Dean failed miserably to put him at ease. “We spotted the vamp before he even had to play bait.”

“I don’t care!” It didn’t change the fact that the Winchesters wanted to use Jax to entice a vampire into getting bite happy. “You put my brother in danger. Did I not make myself clear at the fundraiser about you involving Jax in that part of your life? Huh?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry that I didn’t call you to give you a heads up so you could talk him out of going, like we agreed to.” Dean’s ‘apology’ was nothing short of mocking. “You were kind of busy with your own harebrained plan to draw out the alpha, so you probably wouldn’t have answered the phone.”

“I am so sick of this shit. I am tired of people, who are supposed to be my friends, sacrificing _my family_ to further their own agendas.” It was becoming a pattern that Stiles would not allow to continue. “My best friend wanted to throw my dad to the alpha, and you wanted to do the same thing my big brother and a vampire!”

“Okay. It’s okay.” Jax cut in, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and removing him from Dean’s personal space before things could escalate. “Your dad and I are both fine. Okay? Everything is okay. No one got hurt. It’s all okay. Just calm down, buddy.”

“Do not _handle_ me, Jackson.” There was nothing Stiles hated more than being placated like a child. “I’m—“

“Exhausted and pissed off. I get it.” Jax acknowledged, rubbing soothing circles on Stiles back. “Why don’t you go take a shower and get to bed? We’ll deal with all this in the morning.”

“Okay. Fine.” He agreed, shoulders slumping as the fight left him. “Can you just…stay here? Don’t go off with Dean or the club, not without telling me first. Please?”

“I don’t plan on going anywhere tonight, buddy.” Jax assured him. “I’ve got things to do tomorrow, but I’m in for the night. Okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Dean was the first one up the next morning, as usual. He thought about making breakfast for everyone as a sort of peace offering, until he remembered there were still no groceries in the house, and decided coffee would have to suffice. Once he got the caffeine brewing, he settled down at the table to do the regularly scheduled weaponry cleaning.

He was just finishing up the gun maintenance when Jax shuffled in. He was rubbing the crust out of his eyes with a fist and tripping over the legs of his sweatpants that dragged on the floor. It would have been adorable if it weren’t for the dark bags beneath his eyes.

“Did you get any sleep at all last night?” If Dean were to hazard a guess, the answer would be ‘no.’

“A little.” Jax said through a loud yawn. “Stiles kept waking up with nightmares.”

“About the alpha?”

“About me and his dad being killed.” Jax muttered as he poured a cup of coffee. “Not by a wolf or vampire, but, uh, by you and Scott.”

“Oh.” Well, if that wasn’t a slap in the face, he didn’t know what was.

“There were more nightmares about Scott killing his dad than you killing me, if it makes you feel better.” The other man did his best to reassure him. “Don’t take it to heart. All right? He knows you wouldn’t intentionally hurt me. It’s just, to him, using someone as bait makes you just as bad as the monster you’re trying to draw out. When it comes to someone he cares about at least.”

“I know.” He knew how Stiles mind worked, and he knew he lost a measure of trust with him every time he put Jax in harm’s way. “I’ll try to talk to him today.”

“You’ll probably have better luck than Scott would.” Jax commented as he took a seat across from him at the kitchen table. “But, you know, he’s not gonna be receptive to anything you have to say if you try to write it off like you did last night.”

“Yeah, I know.” Acting as if using Jax as bait was no big deal would only anger Stiles more. “We’ll clear the air. Call a truce.”

“Well, if you can’t, I’m sure we can throw you two in the ring tonight.” Jax joked. “Let you duke it out.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean wouldn’t fight a kid, and scrappy or not, he doubted Jax would let Stiles in the ring with anyone. “What are your plans for the day?”

“I’ve gotta escort the Argents out of town this evening.” A smug smirk played on Jax’s lips. “And Sack has that boxing match tonight. Wanna go?”

“Do I want to see the prospect get his ass kicked? Definitely.” That was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. “I’ll back you up with the Argents tonight, too.”

“No. You’re staying here to look after the kids.” Jax nodded to the hall leading to the bedrooms where Stiles and Derek were still sleeping soundly. “We don’t know how much Chris has learned about me since I first introduced myself. He could know where I live or work. His sister or one of their hunter friends could have seen us pick Derek up last night.”

“You think they’ll come looking for retaliation.” The question was, would they want payback for something they think Derek did or because of what Stiles told the cops? “All right. I’ll look after the kids, make sure they’re safe.”

“Thank you.” Jax flashed him a grateful smile. “I’ll be here most of the day to help. We should take ‘em to TM. You can give Derek your ‘why Baby is the baddest bitch in the yard’ speech while showing him how to tune her up. And Stiles and I have to find Lowell.”

“The twitchy mechanic who always brings his kid to work?” Dean was trying to be nice with that assessment, the truth was, the guy was a mess. “He relapse or something?”

“Those bones we saw being dug up yesterday, off 44, one set belonged to Lowell’s dad. He was buried with a couple of Mayans the club killed.” Which meant Lowell Sr. had been a traitor, or had the bad fortune of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. “Lowell’s not stable. Clay and Tig think ATF will break him, get him to flip on the club.”

“Would he?” Lowell had grown up with the club, beside Jax and Opie, but that didn’t guarantee loyalty.

“He never has before. Even when he was using drugs he kept his mouth shut.” Jax sipped his coffee and considered the full spectrum of the situation for a moment. “When it comes to his dad, though, man, I don’t know. He always thought his dad walked out on him, that he’d come back one day. Knowing he’s been dead this whole time, probably by the clubs hand, it could send him over the edge.”

“What are you going to do if you find him?”

“Keep him away from Clay and Tig.” That was the safest option, if they wanted him to live. “And figure out what or if he said anything to the cops.”

“How does Stiles fit into this?” It wasn’t like Jax to involve Stiles in SAMCRO business.

“Stiles and Lowell are friends. Stiles gets along better with him than he does some members of the club.” That probably had a lot to do with the fact that Lowell wasn’t a member of the club. “If anyone’s going to get Lowell to talk without the threat of death hanging over his head, it’s gonna be Stiles.”

“If Lowell tells Stiles he sold out SAMCRO, and Stiles tells you, you’ll tell Clay, and Lowell will end up dead.” He was basically setting Stiles up to sign Lowell’s death warrant. “Are you really gonna put that on his conscience?”

“If Lowell tells Stiles he ratted, Stiles won’t tell me. He’ll make up a story and get Lowell out of town before any of us realize he’s gone.” And that’s what Jax was banking on. “That’s why Stiles has to be the one to get the truth from Lowell.”

“You don’t want the club to kill him.”

“Not over something like this.” Jax was beginning to sound less like a Son worried about the clubs future, and more like someone who empathized with those outside his circle. “If I found out the club might have killed my dad, I don’t know what I would do. Rat on the club or burn it down. I wouldn’t blame Lowell if he did the same.”

* * *

 

Well, Jax’s day had started off well enough. He had finally gotten that long overdue family breakfast he’d been wanting to have. Sure, it was an hour’s worth of awkward silence and bad diner food, but not the worst meal Jax had shared with his family. Of course, it was all downhill from there.

He spent the better part of the morning trying to convince his little brother to play nice with Dean. It hadn’t gone well. Dean had tried apologizing more than once, but Stiles, ever the stubborn, wasn’t having any of it. The kid remained quiet and closed off all day, not even Jax could bring him around. So, instead of trying to mend fences, Jax focused Stiles energy into something good, finding Lowell.

Locating the missing mechanic was easier said than done. Jax had taken it upon himself to search all Lowell’s old haunts in Charming and San Joaquin, and tasked Stiles with calling all the contacts found in his abandon cellphone. It didn’t matter how many drug dealers Jax beat up, or which friends and fellow junkies Stiles interrogated over the phone, none of them had any idea where Lowell had run off to. Eventually, Jax and Stiles had to admit defeat and call of the search.

Accepting that there was nothing they could do to help Lowell meant different things for both of them. The potential loss of a friend had Stiles retreating further, spending the afternoon by himself, behind the garage, tinkering around with an old bike made of scrapped parts. It was easier for Jax to rid himself of the underlying helplessness Lowell’s disappearance left him with, he used it as a driving force to take him to Beacon Hills, to tackle the job he knew he could complete.

He made a quick stop at the sheriff station first to check on John and make sure he wasn’t doing anything Stiles would have a panic attack over. He even made a failed attempt to sweet talk Deputy Graeme into giving him an update on the case, before continuing on to the Argent house. To Jax’s surprise, they were complying with his request to leave town.

He expected resistance, some kind of fight from the family that boasted about their power, but found none. They said nothing as they loaded their vehicle, didn’t stop to trade barbs, or spew threats they couldn’t back up. They simply climbed into SUV and drove away without even sparing him a glance. He followed them as far as the county line, and then headed home himself.

He made it back to Charming midway through Half Sacks boxing match. Dean was cheering the prospect on enthusiastically, like it was the prize fight on pay-per-view.

“You do know he’s supposed to throw the fight, right, Dean?” The hunter would be sorely disappointed if he thought otherwise.

“Damn it. I put money on him winning.” Dean complained, as if the cash he bet was hard earned and not something he’d won hustling pool. “That would have been nice to know earlier.”

“Yeah, it would have saved you a couple bucks.” Although, the club would lose a hell of a lot more than that if Sack won.

“How’d it go with the Argents?”

“They’re out of Beacon Hills, for now.” Jax was under no illusion that they would stay gone. “They’ll be back by the time winter breaks over. They wouldn’t want their precious little girl to miss any school. It gives us some time to figure out a plan that keeps them away permanently.”

“Let’s not worry about that right now.” Dean suggested, patting an empty space next to him on the bleachers. “Sit down.”

“No, I’m good.” He was too amped up to sit back and relax. “Where are Sam and Derek?”

“Sam’s at the library doing research on…something.” Research was Sam’s default mode, even if the brothers didn’t have a case. “Your mom took Derek home with her. She said someone healing from a wound like his should sleep in a bed not on your couch, and that he looked like he could use a home cooked meal.”

“He’s a motherless child.” Gemma could pick those kids out the crowd. Once she had them in her sights, she would offer them all the maternal love and affection their own mothers could not. “Did he go willingly?”

“She blitz attacked him, tied him up, and stuffed him in the trunk of her caddy.” Dean joked, but Jax could actually picture Gemma doing that to some poor unsuspecting soul. “Actually, she kinda talked him in circles and he had no idea what hit him. I think he agreed to go just to shut her up.”

“We’ve all been there.” His mother just had that effect on people. “Are you jealous? She usually dotes on you while you’re in town.”

“I am a little jealous, but only ‘cause Derek got Gemma’s cooking and I had to eat stale Chinese food."

"Oh, you poor thing."

"You know who is feeling his mommy issues, though,” Dean glanced to the end of the bleachers where Stiles was sitting on his own. “Baby brother. I think, uh, seeing Gem play mama bear to someone she barely knows brought up some shit.”

“Yeah.” The kid put up steel walls to prevent Gemma from mothering him, but it killed him to see her offering that affection to someone else. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

Jax went around the back of the bleachers to reach the other side. Stiles was hunched over, not even pretending to pay attention to the fight going on in front of him. His eyes were glued to his phone, thumbs moving rapidly over the touch screen.

“You gotta lighten up, kiddo.” Jax said in reference to his brother’s recent attitude. “It upsets me to see you like this.”

“Well, you won’t have to be sad much longer.” Stiles turned the phone toward him, showing him the recent text from his father. “My dad’s coming to get me, he’ll be here soon.”

“Oh really?” They must have decided that after Jax had left Beacon Hills or John would have told him. “I thought you were staying a few more days, at least until the school reopened.”

“I wanna go home.” Stiles had uttered those words only a handful of times during his stays in Charming, and it never hurt any less to hear. “Dad needs someone to watch his back, someone who knows what’s going on.”

“Bobby’s got your dad’s back—“

“The hunter who’s supposed to have your back used you as bait.” His brother definitely wouldn’t be letting that one go anytime soon. “My faith in _your_ hunter friends is a little shaken right now. I’m not trusting one to have my dad’s back.”

“Stiles, we talked about this.” Well, he had _tried_ talking to his brother about it, in reality, he’d gotten nowhere fast. “It’s gonna be Christmas in a few weeks. Abel will be getting out of the slow cooker soon. I want you to be here for all that. I would like it if you were getting along with _everybody_.”

“Nothing in the world could keep me from being there when Abel gets out of the incubator.” Stiles sounded more than a little offended that Jax would think he would miss out on that milestone. “And I’ll be here on Christmas Eve, as always. I’m not promising anything else.”

“I guess that’s the most I can ask for.” He still had time to smooth things over before the kid and Dean before they were forced together for the holidays. “Any word on Lowell since I’ve been gone?”

“Nope.” Stiles eyes found Clay a few rows down. “Your Pres took off a few hours ago, came back all carefree, and he’s stopped barking at Tig to find Lowell. I’m guessing he found him already, and he’s probably dead.”

“We don’t know that.” While it was a likely scenario, they couldn’t go jumping to conclusions. “Why don’t we ask?”

“He’s not gonna give us a straight answer, but sure, let’s ask.” Stiles slid off the bleachers and joined Jax on the pavement.

Together, they made their way to the front row where Clay was seated. The older man was too busy chatting with Half-Sack’s girlfriend to notice them.

“Clay,” Jax tapped his knuckles to his stepfather’s knee. “Talk to you for a minute?”

“I’m watching the fight.” Clay waved a hand toward the boxing match. “We’ll talk later.”

“Let’s make this simple,” Stiles leaned in close to issue his threat. “Either you come talk to us about where Lowell is, or I will be the one selling _you_ out to the ATF.”

“For fuck sake.” Clay huffed and stood from the bleachers. “Come on.”

The older man let his anger get the better of him as grabbed Stiles roughly by the arm. There wasn’t much Jax could do but follow along while Clay dragged his brother to the parking lot, refusing to release him until they were standing beside the clubs van.

Jax reached for the gun holstered in his waistband, just in case his Pres decided to take Stiles threat about ratting to the feds seriously. He was honestly afraid Clay might try to toss them both in the back and drive off to some quiet place in the sticks. He had never been so relieved to see the van already occupied when Clay yanked open the door.

Lowell was curled up in the back, a little worse for wear, but very much alive. The poor guy’s body was wracked with tremors and sweating profusely, suffering withdrawals from whatever drugs he had taken.

“I found him getting high at a cheap motel. He pulled a gun on me, wanted to kill me for taking out his old man, but he couldn’t pull the trigger.” Clay explained the state in which he had found Lowell in. “Then he wanted me to kill him. I decided not to.”

“Why?” Jax had never known his stepfather to take that kind of risk, not when it was the club on the line.

“He’s a good mechanic.” Clay remarked before leveling Stiles with an expected look. “What? The Bastard Prince has nothing to say? No clever retort?”

“One good deed doesn’t change anything.” Stiles acknowledged, not the least bit impressed by Clay’s act of mercy. “You’re still a douche.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: A Very Hunter, Outlaw, and Werewolf Christmas


	7. A Very Hunter, Outlaw, and Werewolf Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Multiple holiday flashbacks ahead.  
> Gif sets: [Long Term Care](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/153020865024/charming-wayward-sons-verse-long-term-care-the), [A Very Hunter, Outlaw, and Werewolf Christmas](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/153247613189/charming-wayward-sons-verse-a-very-hunter), [A Willing Captive](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/153301358274/charming-wayward-sons-verse-a-willing-captive). [Bonus for verse: [Claudia Stilinski](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/152698818449/sandm1827-charming-wayward-sons-verse-claudia)]  
> Episodes: [SPN] 3x08 A Very Supernatural Christmas, [SOA] 1x08 The Pull, [TW] 1x09 Wolfsbane.
> 
> **With the exception of Stiles given name (which will replace Genim in this verse, while his _birth name_ remains Nathaniel), nothing mentioned or shown in season 6 of Teen Wolf is relevant to this story/verse, that includes character names [Sheriff Stilinski's, Grandpa Stilinski's,  & Claudia's maiden name], and character portrayals [Grandpa Stilinski, Claudia, etc.].

“It’s a conspiracy.” John mumbled to himself as he picked up the last tub from the floor. “A Christmas conspiracy.”

He could swear the storage containers got heavier each year, it was either that or he was losing his strength. It took more effort than he was willing to admit to haul the over-packed tub up the stairs. Seeing as it was filled to the brim, he would bet his son had packed that particular box the previous year.

“That’s all of them.” He dropped the container beside the other tubs and boxes on the living room floor. “I think.”

“You ever think we have too many decorations?” Stiles asked, eyeing the sheer number of tubs scattered around.

“You think this is bad?” John gestured to the load. “You’re obviously forgetting we have twice as many for Halloween.”

“We do go all out.” Stiles nodded as he snagged a snowman-patterned felt blanket out of one of the boxes and collapsed on to the couch. “You used to say Grandpa was the same way during the holidays.”

“It was his way of trying to keep things normal after my mom left.” It was a few days out of the year when it was easier to pretend like nothing had changed. “I tried to do the same for you.”

“You did.” His son smiled softly. “Even before Mom…you always made the holidays special. You still do.”

“You know what always made Christmas extra special with my dad? When I helped him with the decorations.” John said pointedly. “It’s something we did together.”

“I’m sick.” Stiles pouted, pulling the blanket tighter around him.

“Every year, Stiles. Every single year at Christmas you fall ill.” It was a damn conspiracy. “I’m starting to think you intentionally get sick so you don’t have to put up the decorations.”

“Oh, that’s not true.” Stiles claimed slyly. “But it is fun to just lay here and order you around, tell you which decorations go where. It’s like our tradition.”

“You being sick, that’s definitely a tradition. We even spent your first Christmas in the ER.” It was so many years ago, yet John could remember it like yesterday. “Did I ever tell you that?”

“No.”

“You were coughing and struggling to breathe. I thought you were dying.” It had been one of the most terrifying nights of his entire life. “The doctor said it was croup and assured me you’d live. He gave you some medicine and sent us home a few hours later.”

“I’m supposed to spend this Christmas in a hospital too. I’m supposed to be at St. Thomas, holding my nephew for the first time.” Stiles murmured sadly. “That’s not gonna happen while I’m sick.”

“I’m sorry, buddy. I know you were looking forward to that.” The kid had been like an over-excited puppy since he found out the baby was healthy enough to leave the incubator. “You’ll have plenty of chances to hold him when you’re feeling better.”

“I know. It just sucks.” Stiles huffed, burrowing further into his cocoon of warmth on the sofa. “I can still be there, at the hospital, but I can’t hold him or really be in his room. His immune system is crap. I don’t want him to get sick.”

“As soon as you’re feeling better we can go to St. Thomas so you can hold him.” He promised his son. “Now, are you going to help me with these decorations or not?”

“Well, for starters, the star goes on top of the tree.” Stiles said through a long yawn. “And all the presents go under the tree.”

“Kiddo, why don’t you get some sleep?” He suggested, noting how exhausted Stiles was. “We can decorate when you’re feeling better.”

“No. We’ve put it off long enough. Christmas is tomorrow. We usually have the decorations up by Thanksgiving.” They did tend to get an early start on their holiday cheer. “I’m awake now. I can help.”

“If you’re sure.” From the way the teenager’s eyes drooped, John would bet he succumbed to sleep within the next five minutes.

Stiles sickly pale appearance, the red rings around his eyes, and fever flushed cheeks reminded John of a past holiday season. There were plenty to choose from where he would find a similar scene, but one in particular came to mind. It was another time, they had called a different house _home_ , and they didn’t know it yet, but their little family was growing.

[Stilinski Residence │ December 1999]

_John pulled the comforter up high around the sick little boy curled up in bed. He combed his fingers through the child’s sweat soaked hair as his tired eyes flickered up at him._

_“Get some sleep, buddy.” He urged his small son as he adjusted the pillows so the boy’s head was elevated. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”_

_“The tree, Daddy.” Stiles sniffled, wiping snot from his nose with the back of his hand._

_“We’ll decorate the tree when you’re feeling better. Go to sleep, kiddo.” He pressed a kiss to his son’s temple. “I love you.”_

_“Love you, Daddy.”_

_John double-checked that the blankets were wrapped securely around the boy as he stood from the bed. He plugged in the humidifier, turned on the Winnie the Pooh nightlight, and switched off the bedside lamp. He gave his ill son one last glance before a knock on the front door caught his attention._

_“Sarge,” He whistled for the German Shepherd who obediently trotted to his side. “Watch the baby, okay? Bark if he gets any worse.”_

_The dog did as she was told and jumped onto the child’s bed, prepared to keep a watchful eye on him. John nodded approvingly before making his way down the hall. He stumbled over the maze of boxes on the floor of the living room to reach the front door, more than a little surprised by who he found standing on the front porch._

_“Claudia.” He greeted the brunette woman warmly. “Come in. I didn’t think I’d see you tonight, with your family in town and all.”_

_“I was going a little stir crazy trapped in that apartment with everyone.” She admitted sheepishly as she stepped into the house. “And I wanted to see you before dinner tomorrow. One last night together before my family scares you off.”_

_“I don’t scare easy.” It would take a lot more than an awkward family dinner to make him tuck tail and run. “I do think we should change our plans a bit for that dinner.”_

_“How so?” She asked as he helped her out of her jacket and hung it up on the rack beside the door._

_“The town hosts an annual Winter Festival the week of Christmas.” A small town like Beacon Hills held carnivals and festivals for absolutely everything. “There’s a pageant with the kids and a tree lighting ceremony, things like that. Maybe we can all meet there and then come here afterward for dinner instead of going to a restaurant. If my charm can’t win over your parents than Stiles’ surely can.”_

_“I like that idea. I like it a lot.” Claudia’s eyes brightened. “Speaking of Stiles, how’s my little chipmunk doing? Is he feeling any better?”_

_“He’s a little worse for wear but he’ll be fine.” With a little rest and antibiotics, his son would be back on his feet._

_“Daddy!” Stiles hoarse voice cried out._

_“Speak of the devil.” John chuckled, turning his gaze to the hall to see his little boy shuffling into the room. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, buddy.”_

_“Heard you talking.” His son murmured, wiping sleep from his eyes as he glanced up at the woman in the room. “Hi, Claudia.”_

_“Hi, sweetpea.” She crouched down in front of the boy. “I’m sorry we woke you.”_

_“You help with the tree?” Stiles leaned against his dad’s leg and pointed up to the large pine tree that had yet to be decorated._

_“I told you we would do the tree tomorrow.” John reminded his son. “You should be in bed, kiddo.”_

_“Claudia’s here.” Stiles smiled shyly at the woman in question. “She help us.”_

_“Since you’re awake now and it’s not exactly past your bedtime,” He figured he could let the kid stay up a little longer. “If Claudia would like to help us decorate the tree, she’s welcome to.”_

_“I would love to help.” Claudia readily agreed._

_“Well, you, little man, are still very congested.” John ran a hand through his son’s hair. “I’m going to go get your humidifier before we do anything.”_

_He left his son in his girlfriend’s capable hands as he traipsed into the Stiles bedroom. Sarge was sleeping soundly at the end of the bed, but woke as he entered the room, promptly hopping off the bed to take her usual place at his side. He picked up the humidifier from the table and followed the dog back to the living room, taken aback at the sight he came upon._

_Claudia was sitting in his old recliner, while Stiles shifted anxiously on his feet nearby. John watched his son inch closer to the woman, searching for something he wasn’t sure he could have. Claudia didn’t deny him, she opened her arms, allowing Stiles to crawl into them and burrow into her warmth. She cradled him close, rocking him back and forth in the chair._

_“You cold, love?” She asked when he shivered. She took a crocheted blanket from the back of the chair and wrapped it around him. “There you go. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, sweetheart.”_

_“I feel better, ‘cause you here with me and Daddy.” Stiles tiny hands reached up to toy with the snowflake pendant on her necklace. “We happy with you, ‘kay?”_

_“Okay.” Claudia pressed a kiss to the little boy’s cheek. “I’m happy with you, too. The two of you, you feel like home.”_

_“We your home now.” Stiles declared, curling closer to the woman until his head rested against her chest, her pendant still locked in his grip. “You stay with us.”_

_The declaration from his son, the affection shared between two of the most important people in his life made his heart soar. The only woman Stiles had ever been affectionate with was Opie’s girlfriend, Donna. Stiles had never opened up to any of the other woman in his life, not his grandmother or aunts, only Donna, and now Claudia it seemed. It was almost as if the two of them were the only ones Stiles deemed worthy of his love. The thought was a little troubling, yet still brought a smile to John’s face._

_He tried not to disturb them as he set the humidifier on the coffee table, letting the steam circulate through the room to help his son’s congestion._

_“That’s okay, love.” Claudia soothed as the boy took a ragged breath and sagged against her. “You’ll feel better in the morning, baby.”_

_There was something about the soft way she spoke to his son and the tender way she caressed his cheek, that sparked a startling realization in John’s mind._

_“Claudia,” He knelt beside the recliner and gently touched her arm until her eyes met his. “I love you.”_

_“Oh…” For a moment, she seemed surprised by the admission, but then the most beautiful smile he had ever seen spread across her lips. “I love you too.”_

_Warmth filled his heart as the realization that she felt the same way he did finally sunk in. He leaned in, prepared to pour every ounce of his love into a kiss, only to be blocked by his own child, the traitorous brat._

_“No.” Stiles waved his small fist between them. “I still awake. Don’t be gross.”_

_“Him too, John.” Claudia tightened her hold on the boy. “I love him too.”_

_“I know.”_

[//]

“Dad,” Stiles cautious voice guided him back to the present. “You have ‘mom’ face.”

“’Mom’ face?” That wasn’t a term he’d heard his son use before.

“The face you get when you’re thinking about Mom.” Stiles clarified, fidgeting with a loose thread of the blanket. “Like whatever is on your mind makes you happy and sad.”

“It’s a good memory.” He was lucky to say most of his memories of Claudia were good ones, the ones from before her illness took hold, at least. “It’s getting easier to remember your mother and feel happy, instead of overwhelmed by grief. I’m not quite sure how I feel about that.”

“Mom wouldn’t want us to mourn forever.” His son made a good point, he usually did when it came to Claudia. “She’d be pissed if we did.”

“Yes, she would.” His wife would want them to think of her and smile, not cry. “We’ll go see her tomorrow, before we go to Charming.”

* * *

 

[Charming │ December 1989]

_The Christmas tree lot was packed with Charming residents, all vying for the perfect tree to dress up for the holiday. It was otherwise known as a special kind of hell._

_“Jackie,” A little boy tugged on his pant leg. “I’m cold.”_

_“I know, Tommy.” Jax took his younger brother’s hand in his. “I don’t think Mom’s found the tree she wants yet. We’re gonna be here for a while longer.”_

_“Ugh!” The kid stomped his foot dramatically. “I wanna go home. I’m tired.”_

_“Hey, come on.” He pulled on his brother’s hand to usher him away from the throngs of people._

_He led Thomas over to a picnic bench at the side of the lot. He sat the kid down and shucked off his own jacket, draping it around the boy’s shoulders._

_“That should keep you warm.” It had been an unusually chilly winter for California, Jax couldn’t blame his brother for wanting to be anywhere but out in the cold. “We should’ve stayed home and let Mom pick out the tree by herself. It’s too cold out here for you.”_

_“I wanted to come. I like being outside.” Thomas hadn’t spent a lot of time outside between his multiple stays in the hospital. “I like the trees, they’re pretty. The one I like best, though, is the one from the book Daddy gave us.”_

_“The_ Tree of Life. _” They had seen a picture of it in a book of Celtic mythology that their dad had sent from Belfast. “I think it’s some kind of oak tree.”_

_“What are those ones?” Thomas gestured to the trees on the lot._

_“Pine, I think.” Jax wasn’t an expert, but he figured that’s what most Christmas trees were. “Why do you like trees so much, Tommy?”_

_“They’re big and strong and…life.” Thomas explained, awe written all over his face as he took in the trees around them. “I wanna be a tree, Jackie. I wanna be strong.”_

_“You are strong, Tommy.” Jax had never known anyone with as much strength as his baby brother. “You’re the strongest kid I know.”_

_“My heart’s not. It’s weak.” The boy rubbed a hand over his chest. “I heard the doctors talking to Mommy. They said my heart is broken or something.”_

_“It’s failing. You’re heart is failing.” Heartbroken is what the rest of them felt when they’d heard the diagnosis. “It’s gonna be okay, though.”_

_“No, Jackie.” Thomas shook his head vigorously. “I’m gonna die.”_

_“No, you won’t. There are treatments to make you better.” Jax had to believe that, because the alternative was not something he was ready to comprehend. “This is just a setback. The doctors will fix you.”_

_“I wanna be a tree, Jackie.” The child repeated, eyes still completely transfixed on the ones in front of him. “I don’t wanna be like Nana Teller.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“I don’t want to go in a hole when I’m dead.” Thomas decided, sounding much older than his five years. “I wanna be a tree.”_

_“You are not going to die, Tommy.” Jax would not allow that to happen. “S-Stop saying you are.”_

_“We all die, Jackie.” Thomas knew that better than most. He had lost friends, other patients from the pediatric ward who had not survived their illnesses. “I wanna be a tree when I do.”_

_“Okay, Tommy, I’ll find a way to make you a tree.” Jax promised his brother, unsure of how he would fulfill it. “Can we stop talking about death, please? It’s almost Christmas, we’re supposed to be happy.”_

_“Is Daddy gonna be home for Christmas?”_

_“I, um, I don’t know, Tommy.” Part of him wanted to lie and say yes, if only to put the boy at ease, but it would only do more harm than good. “He’s really busy in Belfast.”_

_“Is he gonna be here for my birthday?” It was an honest question, JT had missed both of their birthday’s in the past year._

_“I don’t know.” He hoped his dad would make it, for Thomas’s sake. “He’ll try, but you know, the club comes first, before us, before Mom, before everybody.”_

_“Maybe he’ll come when I’m gone.” Thomas mused with a sigh. “He can take care of you and Mommy.”_

_“Will you stop talking like that?” Jax couldn’t listen to it anymore. “I can’t think about you dying. I can’t think about losing my baby brother.”_

_“It’s okay, Jackie.” Thomas shifted around on the bench seat and got up on his knees, so he and Jax were more at level with each other, as if what he had to say was so important that he needed to be able to look Jax in the eye. “You’ll have another little brother.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“You will get another little brother.” Thomas enunciated each word carefully, but it didn’t clear anything up for Jax. “He’ll take care of you, ‘cause I can’t.”_

_“I’m not getting another brother, Tommy.” Their parents barely spoke anymore, he doubted they were making babies, even on the rare occasion when his dad was in town. “I don’t_ want _another brother.”_

_“You need him.” Thomas leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. “He’ll take care of you, Jackie. I promise.”_

_“Tommy—“_

_“I’ll take care of him too, ‘kay?” His little brother vowed confidently. “When he gets lost, I’ll find him and bring him back to you. Okay, Jackie?”_

_“Okay, Thomas.”_

[//]

Jax woke with a start, his deceased brother’s name on his lips. He inhaled deeply and tried to shake the uneasy feeling the memory left him with. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t only the dream that had shocked him into consciousness, but also the phone ringing on his bedside table.

“You really need to learn to put it on vibrate, dumbass.” He chastised himself as he swept the device off the table and accepted the call. “Yeah?”

 _“You sound like shit.”_ Dean observed, his bright tone a contrast to Jax’s mood. _“You all right?”_

“Yeah, it’s just…old pain.” The kind of pain that didn’t go away and did not need to be shared. “How’s the hunt going?”

 _“Great. Yesterday, I got to embarrass Sam at Santa’s Village. Last night, I sang a beautifully horrible rendition of ‘Silent Night’ to the drunk Santa from Santa’s Village. And just an hour ago, I interviewed a creepy suburban couple that looked like they stepped out of the 1950s.”_ The hunter summarized the case so far. _“The wife’s meadowsweet wreaths are a common denominator in the case.”_

“I always knew evil would be found in the suburbs.” Jax quipped. “So what kind of monster are they?”

 _“Pagan gods, Sam thinks.”_ Sam’s monster guesses were usually pretty accurate. _“Evergreen stakes should take care of them.”_

“You get to get stab happy, fun.” Jax knew how much the Winchesters loved that part of their job. “You gonna make it back for dinner tomorrow?”

 _“I hope so. As soon as the Carrigans are taken care of, we’re getting on the road.”_ Well, with any luck the Carrigans would be ganked in a timely fashion. _“Sam and I can switch off driving, so we don’t have to stop a motel. We should be back in time for dinner.”_

“Good.” Jax had been looking forward to that since Dean had flaked on Thanksgiving. “Oh, Mom wanted me to ask if Bobby and Derek were gonna show for dinner tomorrow. She extended the invitation to Bobby, but he never gave her an answer.”

 _“Bobby’s too scared of Gem to say_ no _to her.”_ The hunter joked. _“They’ll be there.”_

“I’ll let her know.” His mother would be pleased to have more guests at her annual holiday dinner. “Where have they been anyway? I haven’t heard Stiles bitch about Derek or the alpha in at least a week.”

 _“Bobby’s been helping Derek settle in to the loft.”_ Ah yes, the allusive loft everyone had heard of but few had seen. _“I can’t believe that idiot bought a loft after I told him a house would be safer.”_

“His last house burned down.” It was understandable that the wolf would be reluctant to set himself up for that again. “Maybe he’s banking on the Argents having enough morals not to take out an entire building full of people just to get to him.”

 _“That’s a fair point, I guess.”_ Dean acknowledged. _“So, you gonna tell me what’s got you so down or are we gonna keep pretending you’re fine when you’re really not?”_

“I, uh, I had a dream and it brought up some questions.” Honestly, they had been on Jax’s mind a lot since Abel was born and Stiles had gotten involved with the supernatural. “I’ve been thinking about when Stiles was a toddler and he was kidnapped by that coven. Your dad said he was a spark. How much do you know about them?”

 _“About as much as I did then.”_ Translation: he knew fuck all about them. _“Dad was right when he said they were rare. There isn’t much lore on them. They’re human, they just have an extra sense or something.”_

“Do you think that extra sense or whatever could be hereditary?” It was probably something he should have asked during Stiles initial kidnapping all those years ago. “That it could run in families?”

 _“I guess it’s possible.”_ Dean reported. _“Why? Do you think you’re a spark? Dad said most of them burn out by adulthood, so even if you were, you probably aren’t anymore.”_

“No, not me.” He wasn’t special like that. “Thomas, my little brother, I think he could have been a spark.”

_“Why would you think that?”_

“A few months before he died,” Months that had once been a blur in Jax’s mind, until recently when he’d found a new clarity. “He predicted something, something pretty significant.”

 _“Which was what?”_ Dean questioned curiously.

“Stiles,” Jax couldn’t quite believe it himself, but he found no other explanation for the things his brother had said that day at the Christmas tree lot. “Thomas said I would have another little brother, one that would take care of me.”

 _“That’s incredibly accurate.”_ Dean noted. _“You think Thomas actually predicted Stiles birth?”_

“I don’t know he could have, but he did.” It didn’t seem remotely possible, seeing as Stiles hadn’t been born until six years after Thomas had died.

 _“Sparks can have different talents. Stiles’ spark allows him to sense evil, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.”_ The kid always joked about having a perceptive eye for evil, but no one ever told him how on the mark he was with that. _“Maybe Thomas could sense his family, his brothers, even the one who hadn’t been born yet.”_

“That’s one hell of a theory.” Jax wasn’t quite sure what to think about it. “With Thomas being gone and all, it’s not like we can find out if it’s true or not.”

 _“If Thomas wasn’t a spark, he could have just hoped you would get another brother to look after you when he was gone.”_ Dean theorized meaningfully. _“That’s what I would want if I was going to die. I would want to know someone would be there for Sam. You gonna do that for me, Jax? Are you going to take care of my brother when I’m gone?”_

“You know I will, just like I know you will take care of Stiles if it were me.” It was a promise they had exchanged years ago, to take one another’s family as their own in the event of their death. “Hopefully we’ll never have to. We’re both going to be around for a very long time. Right?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Dean murmured somberly. _“Yeah, I hope so.”_

* * *

 

Moving into the loft was quick and simple. Derek didn’t have any furniture, everything from the apartment in New York was still in New York. He’d ordered new stuff online and waited the allotted three-to-five business days for it to be delivered. Once it was all moved into the loft, he suddenly found himself with what passed for a home again.

He wasn’t naïve enough to truly believe the loft could ever be anything more than a place for him to dwell. It couldn’t be a real home. Homes had families and heirlooms. He was running short on family members and any heirlooms had burned up in the fire.

“You know, I think we could still find some holiday decorations at the store.” His dad mentioned as he took in the bareness of the room. “If you wanted to put some up.”

“I don’t.” He liked the dank ‘aesthetic’ of the place too much to ruin it with faux Christmas cheer. “When’s the last time you put decorations up at your place?”

“There are Christmas lights up all around the exterior of my house right now.” The older man claimed. “Granted I put them up when Karen and I moved in together and never took them down. Most of them probably don’t even work anymore.”

“Probably not.” Not that Derek would know, it had been a long time since he had been to the Singer house. “I remember that dancing Santa Clause thing you use to have.”

“I bought that for you when you were about a year old. We were at the store and you were being so fussy.” His dad smiled at the memory. “Another kid in the same aisle as us pressed the button on the dancing Santa and you quieted right up, you were so mesmerized by it. When it stopped, you started crying and making grabby hands at it.”

“So you bought it to shut me up.” He’d always known his dad was an easy mark. “Be honest, you would have bought me a car when I got my license, if I had asked for one, wouldn’t you?”

“You asked me for one when you got your learners permit.” His father reminded him. “I told you I wouldn’t buy you one, but we could fix one up together. That offer still stands, by the way.”

“I’d like to work on a car with you, when things calm down.” It sounded like one of the very few normal things he might actually enjoy. “But I kinda like the camaro.”

“I noticed.” His dad chuckled. “Well, even if you don’t want decorations for this place, we still need to go to the store. We need groceries and a side dish for dinner tomorrow.”

“What dinner?”

“Gemma invited us to Christmas dinner.” Well, that was the first he was hearing about it. “Sam and Dean will be there, so will the Stilinski’s and the club. It’s not some intimate family gathering. It’s a whole group.”

“I haven’t really done the Christmas thing since the fire.” It never seemed right when it was just he and Laura. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to.”

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” His dad tried his best to ease the tension the thought of a holiday dinner left him with. “Just think about it.”

“I will.” He would carefully weigh his anxiety regarding the situation over telling a woman like Gemma _no._ ”Uh, are we exchanging gifts tomorrow? Is that, um, something we’re doing?”

“Not to sound corny or anything, but being able to spent Christmas with you is the best gift I could get.” The older man said sincerely. “I do have something for you, though.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” Especially since Derek hadn’t had the time to get him anything in return.

“Relax. I didn’t buy anything.” His dad sifted through a cardboard box on the floor until he found what he was looking for, an old worn out picture frame. “Your mom sent this to me after that last Christmas. I know your family photos were lost, so I thought you’d like to have this one.”

Derek took the item into his own hands and was startled by the photo set inside in the frame. The picture had a yellow, aged look to it, but that didn’t take away from the happiness portrayed in it. Honestly, when it had been taken, it hadn’t meant much, it was just one more in a long line of yearly photo’s taken. Now, though, he understood the significance, the reason for capturing one perfect moment in time.

The moment displayed was the last of its kind. It was Derek with his sisters, Laura and Cora, and Peter and his wife Gwen’s boys, Wyatt and Max. Their parents had wanted at least one photo of just the children, and they only ever managed the one before they became too rowdy to control. This one, this perfect moment, was taken during his family’s final Christmas together.

[Hale House │ Christmas 2005]

_Every year it was the same thing. Every single year they were forced to dress in formal attire and stand on the front porch in pre-determined positions while fake snow was deposited around them. With their home and the preserve acting as a natural backdrop, it gave the illusion they were living in some kind of winter wonderland. It was the perfect setting for their annual holiday photos._

_“Oh, that was a good one.” His mother clapped her hands in delight. “That’s going to look beautiful.”_

_“How about one of the kids?” Uncle Peter suggested as he and Gwen moved out of the designated picture taking area._

_“Do we have to?” Derek and the other kids had been standing like statues all morning while a professional photographer snapped picture after picture, it was beginning to get on their nerves._

_“No more pictures.” Cora whined at his side. “You said we can have breakfast after pictures. I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.”_

_“I wanna open presents!” Wyatt chimed in._

_“Yeah, I’m with him,” Laura wrapped her arms around their cousin in solidarity. “Presents!”_

_“One more picture.” Aunt Gwen insisted. “Derek, why don’t you hold Max?”_

_“Come here, buddy.” Derek swept Peter and Gwen’s youngest son into him arms and rested him on his hip._

_“Now Laura, you stand on Derek’s other side, so Max is between you both.” Gwen directed Derek’s older sister. “Wyatt and Cora, you stand in front of them.”_

_“Cora, baby, this picture is going to turn out much nicer if you stop grimacing and smile.” Their mother remarked with a frown._

_“My feet hurt.” Cora complained, but tried to force a smile on her face anyway. “Can I take these stupid shoes off?”_

_“Go ahead, Cora.” Peter gave her permission to relieve herself of the pain her footwear inflicted._

_“Peter, we dress our best for the one set of family photos we take each year.” Talia grumbled at her brother._

_“She’s been in those heels for hours, they’re hurting her. This picture won’t show her legs anyway, so no one will know she went barefoot.” Peter tried to reason with his sister. “We want her to smile so we can get these last pictures done in a timely fashion. We all have other things we would like to do today.”_

_“Yeah, Uncle Peter and Aunt Gwen promised to take us to the ice rink today.” Laura revealed, voice full of excitement. “We’re gonna teach little Max how to skate. I wanna get there sometime this year.”_

_“And Dad’s gonna be here to pick me up soon.” Derek always spent the first half of his winter break in Beacon Hills and the last half in Sioux Falls with his dad. “I have to finish packing, my clothes are still in the dryer.”_

_“No, they’re not. I folded them and put them in your bag when I got up this morning.” Uncle Peter informed him. “I also put a ziplock bag full of those cookies we made last night in the side pocket of your duffle. There should be enough for you and Bobby.”_

_“Cool. Thanks.” Derek flashed him a grin. “My basketball jersey—“_

_“You mean the Beacon Hills High School one you wear so the neighborhood kids in Sioux Falls know who’s kicking their butt during your pick-up game?” Peter asked with a cheeky smile. “It’s in the bag.”_

_“You’re the best.” He praised the older man who always seemed to know what they needed before they even asked for it._

_“Yes, I am.” Ah, yes, Uncle Peter was modest too. “Now everyone stand still and smile. Try to look like all those boring normal families we see on television.”_

[//]

“Thank you.” Derek glanced up from the photograph to his father. “Thank you for this.”

“I wanted you to have one good memory to think about tomorrow.” His dad settled a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Your family, that family, always had a great time during the holidays. You and Laura didn’t want to do it without them, I understand that, but at some point you’ve gotta move on, son. The thing to remember is, moving on doesn’t mean forgetting them. It’s carrying them with you wherever you go.”

* * *

 

Jax liked to think he had an open invitation to the Stilinski house, John had told him as much after Stiles was born, saying he could come over whenever he liked to see his baby brother. So, he was more than comfortable walking into the place like it was his own home.

“Anyone home?” Seeing as the front door was unlocked, he assumed someone was there.

“Over here.” John called out from behind a stack of plastic tubs and cardboard boxes.

“Oh, hey.” Jax looked around the storage containers to see his brother’s father sitting cross-legged on the floor beside a sparsely decorated Christmas tree.

“Hey. Stiles is in bed.” The older man waved a hand toward the stairs. “His fever spiked, I told him to go lay down for a bit.”

“The winter flu strikes again.” The kid’s immune system worked like clockwork. He always got sick around the same time each year. “I came to talk to you, actually.”

“Have a seat.” John gestured to the sofa. “What’s going on?”

“I was just wondering what was happening with the kids Stiles was trapped in the school with.” It had been two weeks, more than enough time for the cops to investigate. “Did their parents sweet talk the DA into dropping the charges?”

“Oh, they’ve used all their considerable influence to make sure their precious children are never held accountable for their actions.” Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise. “The Whittemores were big donors to the DA’s campaign, so he’s more than willingly to be lenient. However, given the severity of the accusations being thrown around, he can’t just drop it, especially since a reporter at the local newspaper got a hold of Stiles official statement. Turns out, someone hacked the stations computer system. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Nope. No idea.” Jax would have to ask Juice if he covered his tracks thoroughly during that particular cyber crime. “Since a concerned citizen more or less forced the DA to pursue the case of face public backlash, where does that leave things?”

“Well, their claim that Derek was trying to kill them was proven false by a traffic camera showing him in Bobby’s car at the time he was supposedly terrorizing them in the school.” That was good news for Derek, bad news for the kids. “They were charged with falsifying their statements, which led to Lydia, Allison, and the Whittemore kid to admit they hadn’t actually seen Derek that night, they were just taking Scott’s word for it.”

“Scott throws Derek under the bus and then his girlfriend and her friends throw him under the bus.” Cosmic justice at its finest. “Did those falsifying a statement charges get dropped then?”

“No, because they still falsified their statements and withheld information, like the molotov cocktail Lydia and Jackson were cooking up.” John shook his head at the teenagers stupidity. “Not that it was something the DA was concerned about. The Martin and Whittemore lawyers argued that the kids were terrified and needed a way to defend themselves.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“They had psych evaluations done on both kids, which backed up that theory. They graciously paid for the shrink to interview Stiles, Scott, and Allison as well.“ Oh, that couldn’t have gone well. “Stiles _politely_ informed the psychiatrist that if Scott, Allison, Lydia, or Jackson came near his family, Derek Hale, or Bobby Singer again, with ill intent, he would not hesitate to use our hunting rifle on something other than deer.”

“I didn’t know you guys hunted.” Which was probably a question for another day.

“We don’t, but I do have a hunting rifle in my gun safe. It was gifted to me by an old friend.” John gestured to the gun safe in the corner of the room. “And Stiles does know how to use it.”

“How’d the head shrink take his promise of vengeance?” Jax would bet good money that Stiles earned himself a permanent spot on the shrink’s couch for that comment. “Is he a troubled young man?”

“She did suggest further counseling, nothing that hasn’t been said about Stiles before.” John brushed off the psychiatrists concern. “Bottom line is, the other kids are getting off with a couple hundred hours of community service, and their records will be expunged when their eighteen.”

“That’s a load of crap.” First offenses or not, those little bastards should get a much harsher punishment.

“The DA did not want to ‘ruin their bright futures.’” John sneered as the words left his mouth. “A judge did grant the restraining orders, barring them from contacting Derek, Bobby, Peter Hale, Stiles, and me.”

“That’s something, I guess.” It meant the judge believed Stiles statement, alluding to some or all of the kids, namely the Argents, being a danger to the Stilinski’s and the remaining Hales. “Are they charging Stiles with anything?”

“Nope. His statement was the only one that fit the evidence at the crime scene. They took that to mean it was the truth as he knew it.” Stiles version of the truth may not have been the truth, but it didn’t matter, so long as the judge and DA bought it. “He was given a warning about trespassing on school grounds, that’s it.”

“Good.” His little brother had been the only one with some goddamn common sense in the school that night, he didn’t deserve to be punished for the stupidity of others. “That’s good.”

“Yes, it is.” John nodded, then seemed to noticed something off in Jax’s posture. “Something else you need to talk to about?”

“Uh, yeah, maybe, um....” Jax moved to the sofa, sitting down to make himself comfortable for what could be a longer conversation. “Abel’s gonna be coming home soon. Getting him out of the incubator is the first step. Him being as sick as he is though, it’s been making me think about my brother Tommy. They both have the same heart condition.”

“And your little brother died from that heart defect, so did your Uncle Nathaniel. It’s understandable that your thoughts might wander in that direction.” John reasoned thoughtfully. “You, your mother, and Stiles all survived that condition, that’s what you have to remember.”

“It’s not about him living or dying. I know that Abel will live, that he’s going to survive.” If there was anything he had learned in the last few months, it was that his son was stronger than he ever thought possible. “But when he was born, when it was still touch and go, I didn’t even want to see him. I didn’t want to see my kid if he was just going to die. If he was going to die, then he was not going to be my son.”

“He was always going to be your son, Jax, whether you visited him or not. You would have felt that loss like a car wreck, even if you never laid eyes on him.” John pulled himself up off the floor to sit next to him on the couch. “You acknowledged him as your son the moment you realized it would destroy everything inside you to lose him.”

“As much as it hurt to see him like that, and as scared as I was to of losing him before I could even know him....” Even thinking about it now made his heart clench painfully in his chest. “I tried to be there as often as I could for him, in case something happened and he needed me.”

“That’s part of being a parent.” The older man told him. “You push past your fear to be there for your child.”

“My dad didn’t do that for Tommy.” JT had made himself scarce as Thomas’s illness had begun to worsen. “On Tommy’s last Christmas, he asked if Dad would be there, but Dad didn’t show. His last birthday, he wanted Dad to be there, but JT couldn’t even be bothered to call and wish him a happy birthday. And when Tommy was admitted to the hospital that last time....”

“Your dad wasn’t there.”

“Tommy kept asking me and Mom _‘when’s Daddy coming,’ ‘is Daddy gonna be here soon,’_ and he was sobbing _‘I wanna see Daddy._ ’ Mom called Belfast every single day, telling Dad to come home, but he wouldn’t.” Jax could never come to terms with his father’s cruelty when it came to Tommy’s request. “All Thomas wanted in the end was to see Dad, and JT refused to grant that wish, he refused to be there for his dying son.”

“I’m sorry, Jackson.” John placed a consoling hand on his back. “It requires a certain kind of strength to be a father, JT just didn’t have it. You do, though, you proved that the first time you went to see Abel. You reaffirm that every time you visit him.”

“I love my dad, I do, and I miss him every day.” Despite who he knew his father to be, the man still raised him, and Jax still cared for him. “But I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to be a father who turns his back on his family when they need him the most.”

“Luckily enough, you had more than one parent. You don’t have to follow your father’s lead when it comes to being a parent.” John hinted toward the other, more prominent parent in Jax’s life. “My mom left when I was six, while my dad was still in the VA hospital recovering from the injuries he sustained in the war. He couldn’t just check out and come home to take care of me, although he did try. My mother left me on my own, that’s not an example I wanted to follow when I became a parent.”

“So you looked to your dad for a good parenting example when it came to Stiles.” Jax’s eyes found a framed photo of the Stilinski patriarch, dressed in his military uniform, displayed on the wall. “I remember your dad a little. He used to give Opie and me butterscotch candies when he patrolled near TM. I know he died like a decade before Stiles was born.”

“When Stiles was born, I was on my own. I didn’t have a parent to turn to for advice when things got rough.” The older man sighed sullenly. “You do have someone, though. You have a mother who will step over every boundary line to tell you how to raise your son. I’m sure Piney will help if you ask him. I will too, if you need me.”

“Thank you.” Jax might just take him up on that offer. “I’m just…I’m at a loss here. I have no idea how to be a father.”

“Neither did I.” John confessed. “You learn as you go. It’s not easy. It’s the hardest thing in the world. Even when you think you’re doing everything right, you’ll feel like you’re doing everything wrong.”

“You got an example of that?”

“Stiles slept in a bassinet in my room when he came home. I didn’t move him into the nursery until he started sleeping through the night. He had a rough time adjusting. He would cry and cry until I came into comfort him, and then we’d fall asleep in the rocking chair.” John reached up to massage the back of his neck, as if he could still feel the stiffness the chair left him with after a long night. “Friends who had been through the process with their kids told me he needed to learn to self-soothe, which meant letting him cry it out while I paced the hallway feeling like a monster.”

“How long did you last?” Jax couldn’t picture John letting Stiles suffer for very long.

“Ten minutes.”

“Really?” He wasn’t buying that dirty lie for a second.

“Okay, five.” Yeah, that was far more believable. “In my defense, the dog broke first. She barreled past me into the nursery, and shoved her snout between the bars of the crib. As soon as her wet nose touched the bottom of his foot, he stopped crying. Since she was already in there, I figured I wouldn’t be breaking any self-soothing rules by checking on him.”

“Right.” That made sense.

“I still feel guilty about that, about not comforting him when he was crying.” The older man shook himself, trying to rid himself of the remorse. “That’s a big part of being a parent too. Guilt. Every time your child is hurt or sad or in trouble, no matter how miniscule, you are always going to feel guilty. You are going to be 100% convinced that you could have done something to stop whatever happened.”

“When I was a kid, there was this big tree in our front yard that I liked to climb. Mom always told me not to, she was afraid I would fall and break my neck.” He never listened to her though, and as it turned out, her fear was justified. “One time I did fall, I broke my arm. The next day, Mom was out there with a chainsaw, cutting the tree down, muttering that she should have done it a long time ago.”

“In her head, she was directly responsible for your broken arm, because she didn’t cut down that tree as soon as you decided you liked climbing it.” It made sense, in an irrational sort of way. “You learn pretty quickly that you cannot protect your child from everything, it’s just not possible.”

“I’ve already learned that lesson.” He found that out the day Abel was born. “How many more lessons are there? Is there a class I can take to get a crash course?”

“There are parenting classes, but all they’re going to teach you is how to change diapers and things like that.” All things Jax had learned when Thomas and Stiles were babies. “They don’t prepare you for that feeling of helplessness you get when your child is ill and all you can do is give them medicine and hope it works, while you lay with them and cringe when they cough. A class won’t teach you how to deal with the heartbreak of hearing your kid saying they hate you for the first time, even when you know they don’t mean it.”

“Stiles has never told you he hated you.” Jax knew how much Stiles loved his dad, he would never hurt him by uttering those words.

“You remember when Claudia was sick and she attacked Stiles on the hospital roof? The next morning, when she was lucid, and remembered what she’d done, she was horrified. She was so afraid that she’d hurt him again that she didn’t want me to bring him to the hospital anymore.” John twisted the wedding ring that still sat on his finger. “I couldn’t tell my little boy that his mom didn’t want to see him, he would never understand why.”

“What did you tell him?” All Jax could recall from the years Claudia was sick was how withdrawn Stiles had become as his mother deteriorated.

“I told him I was the one who didn’t want him to see Claudia, because she’d hurt him.” John took that heat so Stiles wouldn’t think another mother had abandon him. “He went so still and quiet, just stared at me with those big brown eyes full of betrayal. He started to shake, tears poured down his cheeks, and then he just screamed that he hated me. I tried to comfort him, but he slapped my hands away and ran off to his room. He didn’t speak to me until I finally gave in and took him to see her and she told him the truth.”

“I didn’t know that.” Jax was aware the Claudia had hurt Stiles, John had brought the kid to him the next day, so he could babysit while they get Claudia situated at Eichen House, but he hadn’t know of the full spectrum of the fallout. “I don’t think Stiles has ever told me he hated me.”

“Not to your face he hasn’t.” John joked, trying to lighten the mood a little bit. “You just have to remind yourself that they don’t mean it when they say they hate you or anything they shout at you in anger.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” Hopefully, he would have a long while before he heard those words from Abel. “Can’t say I ever said anything like that to my mom, though.”

“Of course you didn’t, you’re a smart kid, and Gemma would have skinned you for it.” John’s lips quirked up in a half smile. “What about your dad? Have you ever thought you hated him?”

“Sometimes, yeah.” His father hadn’t been a perfect man, not by a long shot, he had done a lot of things Jax wished he hadn’t. “I hate him for abandoning us when Tommy was sick.”

“You can’t hold on to that hate, but you can’t forget what it taught you. You’ve imitated your dad in terms of the club, do not do the same in regards to being a father.” John urged him. “You hate that your dad was not present for you and Thomas when you needed him, learn from that by being there for your son.”

“I will.”

“The Sons of Anarchy live by that rule that the club comes first, family comes second. It can’t be that way if you want to be a good father. Your child has to be number one in your life.” John said firmly, his voice hard with conviction. “You can’t just take off on a run with the club when your little boy is sick at home and just wants his daddy. Your afternoon rides will be replaced by baseball games. Parties have to give way to bedtime stories.”

“I get it.” If he wanted to be the father Abel deserved, he would have to make some major life changes. “I do.”

“There’s no such thing as a perfect parent. You’ll make mistakes, god knows I have. You do the best you can, that’s all you can do.”

* * *

 

Apparently, being sick did not temporarily remove Stiles from the supernatural crisis phone tree, if the way Derek appeared seemingly out of nowhere in his bedroom meant anything. Waking up from his nap to see the wolf staring at him from his desk chair was a shock to say the least. Of course, the surprise visit wasn’t enough to pull him out of bed.

He didn’t make a move to crawl out of his mountain of blankets when Derek insisted they needed to find out who texted Allison pretending to be Scott the night they were locked in the school. The most he found the strength to do was text Juice for help, he hadn’t yet decided whether that was to find the source of Allison’s text or to get the werewolf out of his house. Once the SOS was sent, he resigned himself to ignoring Derek, pulling his comforter over his head and waiting for his white knight to ride up on a Harley. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Hey,” The Son rapped his knuckles against the doorframe to announce his presence, the inconsiderate bastard.

“Oh god.” Stiles groaned as his head pounded painfully at the noise. “Not so loud.”

“Sorry.” Juice apologized as he dropped what sounded like a backpack on the floor. “So, uh, your dad’s gone a little Christmas crazy, huh, Stiles?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The Stilinski family enjoyed their holidays, but not anymore than the next person.

“He’s tangled in Christmas lights, tinsel, and strings of popcorn.” Juice giggled like a child who just caught one of his parents doing something embarrassing. “He gave me a candy cane and offered me eggnog.”

“Decorating for the holidays always puts him in a good mood.” Taking the decorations down, however, had the opposite effect. “He wouldn’t be so happy if he found out I brought you here to hack a cellphone.”

“I probably should have asked why you wanted me here before I came.” Juice muttered with a sigh. “Whose phone am I hacking and why?”

“Ask the Sourwolf.” Stiles shoved the blankets down so he could thrust a finger to the wolf. “It was his bright idea. Just keep it down, I’ve got a headache.”

“We could have done this at the clubhouse.” Juice said as he kicked the base of the desk chair where Derek sat. “Up. I need the computer.”

“Derek’s scared to go to the clubhouse by himself.” That was the only explanation for why he had refused when Stiles had made that suggestion. “And I wouldn’t climb out of my bed to drive down there.”

“I’m not scared to go to the clubhouse.” Derek shot him an indignant glare as he stood form the chair, allowing Juice to slip into it. “Juice, the night at the school, Allison Argent received a text from Scott, telling her to meet him at the school, except Scott never sent that text.”

“You want to know where the text originated.” Juice shuffled the mess of papers around on the desk so he could reach the keyboard and mouse. “You think the alpha sent the text to lure them in. Find out who actually sent the text and you find the alpha. Got it.”

“So you can do that?” Derek questioned dubiously. “ _You_ know how to do something like that on a computer?”

“Stiles,” Juice scowled over his shoulder at him. “I didn’t come here to have my skills questioned by someone you refer to as a failwolf.”

“He can do it.” Stiles assured the wolf. “Don’t let the biker kutte fool you, Juice isn’t as stupid as the rest of them. Just give him the number and whatever else he needs.”

“Here,” Derek dropped a sticky note onto the desk. “The ISP and time of text, that’s what you need, right?”

“Yep.”

Juice’s nimble fingers worked expertly over the keyboard, capturing Stiles rapt attention. The Son had a laser-like focus on his task, something that Stiles found incredibly attractive. He knew firsthand what it was like to be so passionate about something that you lost yourself in it completely. For Stiles, it was research about a topic he was interested in, and for Juice it was coding on his computer, or finding out what made his other forms of technology tick.

“All right, so it looks like the text came from a computer at _Beacon Hills Long Term Care_.” Juice read the information off the screen. “The account it was signed into at the time was registered to Melissa McCall.”

“Scott’s mother,” Derek huffed, glowering at Stiles as if he had personally sent the text. “Could Scott have sent it?”

“Maybe that theory you gave the cops about a double date after hours at the school, wasn’t that far off the mark.” Juice speculated, swiveling the chair around to face him.

“He didn’t send the text.” Scott had absolutely no reason to send a text from a computer when he had a perfectly good cellphone. “The alpha or someone close to him had to have sent it. The alpha may not have lured _us_ there, but he sure wanted Allison.”

“I doubt Scott’s mom sent it.” Derek commented irritably. “Maybe someone at the clinic knows something.”

“Your uncle’s a patient there.” Stiles acknowledged, knowing Peter Hale had been a permanent resident at the facility since the fire. “If the alpha was using a computer there, he might have visited your uncle.”

“Now we know where we’re going.” Derek nodded and looked to Stiles. “Let’s go.”

“Oh no, I am not going anywhere.” Stiles had absolutely no plans to leave the warmth of his bed anytime soon. “You’ve got your own car.”

“If the alpha is someone at the clinic, they probably know me, and seeing me might spook them.” The wolf made a good point, for what was probably the first time ever. “The alpha thinks I’m dead. That’s why you are going and why we’re taking your Jeep.”

“The Jeep is in Charming.” He hadn’t had a chance to start on the repairs. “The bastards probably towed my poor Roscoe to the back of the property, left him susceptible to the elements.”

“We did not.” Juice denied the claim. “Roscoe is being taken care of, you have my word.”

“No offense to your word or anything, but I’ll believe it when I see it.” Stiles grumbled as his bedroom door swung open once more.

“Hey kiddo,” His dad poked his head through the door, a Christmas garland around his neck. “I called your coach and let him know you wouldn’t be at your game tonight.”

“But I’m starting, Finstock will never give me a chance to play again, let alone start.” He whined before realizing what the hell he was saying. “Oh, wait, I don’t care.”

“Even if you did care about playing, you couldn’t, you’re sick.” His father reminded him, as if he could forget about his sore throat and runny nose. “I have to go talk to a witness in a case I’m working on. I’ll be home in a few hours. You gonna be okay here?”

“Yeah.” Although he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be there much longer, if Derek had his way.

“What kind of school holds a sports game during winter break?” Juice asked as the elder Stilinski left.

“I don’t think the school district had much of a choice in the matter. It was all down to Finstock and the coach he challenged.” The original game schedule, handed out at their first team practice, had no game set during their holiday break. “Anyway, Derek, weren’t you going to the clinic?”

“I’m not going by myself.” The wolf shifted his glance from Stiles to Juice. “He doesn’t know you. You can take me.”

“Oh, sure, I’ll take you.” Juice agreed a little too easily. “You can ride bitch on my bike, it’s what I rode here.”

“We’ll take my car, but you’ll drive.” Derek tossed his keys to the Son. “Stiles, let’s go.”

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere.” He was sick, he was tired, and he was not leaving his bed unless it was a life or death emergency. “You two have fun. Try not to die.”

“You’re coming.” Derek snagged a corner of his blanket and yanked it off him. “Let’s go.”

“Hey! Be nice. He doesn’t feel good.” Juice admonished the wolf and reached over to wrap his warm fingers around Stiles ankle. “Please come with us, Stiles? You don’t have to do anything. You can rest in the backseat.”

“Fine, I’ll go.” He grudgingly agreed, but only because Juice asked so nicely.

* * *

 

_[Motel Room │ December 26, 1991]_

_Dean drifted to consciousness with the help of Sinatra’s ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ droning from radio. When he managed to flutter his eyes open, he was greeted by strings of colored Christmas lights strategically hung around the room. There was a small tree set up on the table, decorated with whatever decorations were left in the bargain bin at the corner store, there were even a few presents underneath._

_His dad was half-asleep on the couch on the other side of the room, an old Santa hat on his head, and a mug shaped like a Rudolph’s face in his hands. At least he had foregone the ugly Christmas sweater this year._

_“Hey Dad,” Dean climbed out of bed as quietly as he could, so not to wake Sammy in the one beside it. “When did you get back?”_

_“A couple hours ago. You and Sam were out cold. I didn’t want to wake you.” The older man as he took a sip from his cup. “How you doing, Deano? How were things while I was gone?”_

_“It was a rough couple of days.” He admitted, plopping down next to his dad on the sofa. “Dad, Sam, he, uh, he knows.”_

_“Knows what?”_

_“About what you really do for a living.” He honestly wasn’t sure how they’d kept it from the kid this long. “He went snooping while I was out getting groceries. He found your journal.”_

_“Shit.” His father scrubbed a tired hand down his face. “What’d you tell him about it?”_

_“That you were a superhero and the coolest.” Dean had laid it on pretty thick for his little brother, but that didn’t mean it was any less true. “That monsters are real and you fight them.”_

_“Was he scared?”_

_“Yes.” What kid wouldn’t be when they learned the monsters under his bed were real? “He thinks since a monster got Mom, that one will get you, and then us.”_

_“That won’t happen.” His dad declared with the utmost certainty. “I will not let anything hurt you or your brother, not as long as I’m still breathing.”_

_“I know, Dad.” If there was one thing he believed above all else, it was that his dad would do everything possible to protect he and Sam._

_“Can you two please be quiet?” Sam snapped, throwing a pillow across the room at them. “It’s six a.m. I’m trying to sleep.”_

_“Merry Christmas, Sammy.” Their dad rallied over the kid’s griping. “I’ve got cocoa and presents.”_

_“Christmas was yesterday.” Sam grumbled, flipping over in bed so his back was facing them._

_“Sam’s mad, must be the holiday season.” Dean sighed and slumped down on the couch. “Maybe you should make him some of that special eggnog. It always puts Uncle Bobby in a good mood. It could work for Sam too.”_

_“I’m not giving my eight-year old a whiskey laced drink.” The older man laughed and shook his head. “And before you ask, you’re not getting one either. There is some high-end hot chocolate, if you want some.”_

_“High-end hot chocolate?”_

_“It’s in a glass jar, not a can or packet.”_

_“Classy.” They were moving up in the world, or at least more willing to splurge during the holidays. “Are there mini-marshmallows?”_

_“There are.” His dad nodded. “There were some candy canes, but I ate ‘em on the drive home.”_

_“That’s okay. Sam and I ate all the cupcakes you bought before you left. They were delicious.” They were also gone within ten minutes of the Impala being out of sight, not that his father needed to know that. “Do I have to wait for Sam to open presents?”_

_“Seeing as I’m a day late for Christmas, I expect Sam’s sulking to last until he smells the steaks I bought for dinner.” His dad rolled his eyes at the youngest Winchesters behavior. “Go ahead and open yours.”_

_“Awesome.” He jumped off the couch and made a beeline for the tree. “Thanks, Dad.”_

[//]

“Dean, are you even listening to me?” Sam’s annoyed voice forcibly dragged Dean out of the memory. “Dean!”

“What?” He gazed up from the laptop screen, where he had been working before he’d gotten lost in the past. “What do you want?”

“The computer.” His brother gestured to the machine. “We’re supposed to be researching, instead you’re downloading music and spacing out.”

“We already know what the big bad is and how to kill it.” They were just playing the waiting game until they got to the actual killing. “What’s the big deal? I’m making a gift for Abel.”

“You’re making a mix CD for a baby?” Sam raised an unimpressed brow. “You do know they won’t play that for him in the NICU, right?”

“Jax can play it for him when he comes home.” He wasn’t putting the mix together so he specifically could play it for the baby. “I want Abel to know good music, whether I’m the one who introduces him to it or not.”

“Good music….” Sam snorted derisively. “It’s funny that you still think that crap you and Dad listened to is _good_ music.”

“Just for that, you’re not getting your Christmas gift tomorrow.” Which worked out nicely, considering Dean hadn’t found the time to go out and buy him one yet. “And I’m gonna make sure you don’t get any pie after dinner tomorrow.”

“Dinner?”

“Christmas dinner at the clubhouse.” Dean had been marking the days off on his calendar. “Everyone’s going to be there. Gemma, Luann, and John are cooking the main course. It’s gonna be great.”

“I’m not going.” Sam decided. “I’m not doing that.”

“It’s the closest thing to a normal Christmas we’re ever gonna get.” He thought his brother would jump at the chance for that, seeing as he bitched about not having anything normal growing up. “Why don’t you wanna go?”

“I don’t want to celebrate Christmas.” Sam proclaimed sourly. “Not when I know it could be your last.”

“That’s exactly why I want to do this, Sammy.” He wanted his final Christmas to be one of the best he’s ever had. “I want to spend my last Christmas with the family I have left, that’s you, Bobby, and Jax. I want to spend it around a table with our friends, telling embarrassing stories about each other while we drink spiked eggnog and stuff our faces with good food.”

“I can’t do that, Dean. I can’t play happy and normal when I know next year you’ll be gone. I want to do it for you, but I can’t.” His brother’s lips set in a grim line. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I.”

* * *

 

As much as Juice was enjoying driving the camaro, he was just about done taking step-by-step instructions from Derek, which led him all over hell. He understood the purpose, they didn’t want hunters or anyone else following them, but having a wolf bark in his ear for twenty minutes was growing real old, real fast. Juice wondered if Derek knew how lucky he was to not have a bullet his in his ass by the time they finally made it to the Long Term Care clinic.

“All right, we’re here.” Juice pulled the car into a space in the parking lot and yanked the keys out of the ignition. “Now will you shut the fuck up? I know my way around Beacon Hills and I know how to spot a tail.”

“Sorry.” Derek apologized, much to Juice’s surprised, he wasn’t aware the wolf knew how to do that. “It’s just…the alpha sent the text from here to show me he could get to my uncle. He wanted me to know that what’s left of my family isn’t safe.”

“From what I understand, your uncle being a patient here was never a secret.” In a small town like Beacon Hills, Peter being admitted to the clinic was probably common knowledge. “Unless the alpha knows you very well, he couldn’t have predicted that you would have found a hacker to track the origin of a text on a teenage girl’s cellphone.”

“Then it’s somebody who knows me or knew me before the fire.” The lengthened the suspect pool considerably. “That’s the only way he could have known Laura was the alpha and that she would be here when she was.”

“The security cameras in this place had to have picked up the alpha or his accomplice when they were on the computer sending the text.” There had to be at least one camera pointed the nurse’s station to keep an eye on the staff. “I can pull the footage and we’ll see if there’s someone you recognize.”

“Okay. Good.” Derek nodded then frowned when he realized Juice wasn’t making a move to get out of the car. “So are you gonna go into the clinic and look for the alpha or what?”

“I’m thinking about it.” Juice wasn’t entirely sure why his particular part in this was necessary. “Why am I the one doing this? Why not someone more in your inner circle?”

“Sam and Dean are out of town. Stiles is passed out in the backseat.” The wolf jerked a thumb toward the kid’s sleeping form curled up in the back. “And I’m not getting my dad involved. You’re the only one of us the alpha doesn’t know.”

“Shit.” There was one small problem with that plan. “The alpha saw me that night at the school.”

“Maybe he won’t remember you.” Derek shrugged his shoulders, like it didn’t matter if the alpha recognized Juice one way or another.

“You’re banking my ass on a _maybe_? That’s comforting.” He enjoyed having his head on the chopping block. “I’ll be back.”

“Where you going?” Stiles mumbled groggily, his head popping out of the blanket he was bundled in. “What are you doing? Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’ve gotta go inside for a minute. I’ll be back soon.” He assured the teenager as he pushed open the car door.

“No.” Stiles jolted up and snatched a handful of Juice’s hoodie. “There’s something bad here, someone bad.”

“Stiles,” Juice gazed over his shoulder, noting Stiles tired eyes and fever flushed cheeks. “It’s okay. I’m just gonna go check on Derek’s uncle and look at the security footage. It’ll be fine.”

“No, it won’t.” Stiles tightened his grip on Juice’s sweater to keep him in place. “There is something _dark_ in there.”

“I believe you.” He’d learned long ago to trust Stiles instincts when it came to good and evil. “I’m armed, wolfsbane bullets and all. I’ll be okay.”

“Juice….”

“Here, I’ll do this.” Juice took his phone from his pocket and pressed Stiles name in his contact list, causing Stiles phone to vibrate on the seat. “I’ll leave my phone on. Put yours on speaker so you and Derek can hear everything that’s going on. Okay?”

“Okay.” Stiles released his grip on Juice’s sweater and did as he was told. “Be careful.”

“Always.”

Without further objection, Juice climbed out of the camaro and slammed the door behind him. He crossed the nearly empty parking lot to the hospital entrance and was surprised when the automatic doors slid open, despite the fact that the sign on the glass pane said the facility was closed. However, while the doors may have opened, a step inside made it clear the place was closed for business.

There was not a single member of the staff at the receptions desk. There were no orderlies, nurses, or doctors roaming the halls, checking on their patients. In fact, after ducking his head into several rooms, Juice began to wonder if there were any patients to attend to, seeing as all the beds were empty.

“What the hell?”

 _“What’s going on?”_ Stiles panic ridden voice shrilled over the phone.

“This place is deserted.” From what Juice had seen, the place was void of all people. “There’s no one here.”

 _“Ask for Jennifer,”_ Derek instructed him. _“She’s been looking after my uncle.”_

“Didn’t I just say there was no one here?” He was beginning to think the wolf was hard of hearing. “What’s your uncle’s room number?”

“There’s no need for that.” A sanguine voice drew is attention to the hall. “You won’t find me in my usual quarters, in the prison cell disguised as a hospital room that my eldest niece banished me to.”

“You’re Peter Hale.” He was a lot less catatonic than Juice was led to believe. “The text sent to the Allison’s phone wasn’t a threat to you, it was from you. You are the alpha.”

 _“Juice, get out of there right now!”_ Derek shouted through the receiver.

“Juice? Interesting name.” Peter took a few calculated steps toward him. “When I first caught the scent of someone invading my asylum, I thought it was the Stilinski boy coming to visit. You see, I can smell him on you. His scent is a part of yours.”

“Is that right?” Well, he and Stiles did spend a lot of time together, their personal odors were bound to mingle. “You know his scent that well?”

“I recognize it. He used to run around my family home when his mother was ill and his father was working.” The alpha clasped his hands behind his back as he continued to sashay toward him unrushed. “His mother, the lovely Claudia, is the only reason I did not bite Stiles that night in the woods or slit his throat from ear to ear at the school. I was honestly afraid, even through my psychosis, that Claudia would rise from the grave and rip my heart out for hurting her baby boy.”

“I’ll tell Stiles to thank her the next time he visits her at the cemetery.” He wasn’t sure that information would come as a comfort to Stiles. “So, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Is there even a point to me pulling my gun?” Juice had done the calculations and wasn’t sure he had the time to pull, aim, and fire before the wolf attacked. “I don’t want to waste my time here.”

“There’s no point.” Well, at least the homicidal werewolf was honest. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to turn you.”

“Oh, okay.” It did make him feel a little better. “Well, you know, I appreciate the offer, but I’m gonna have to decline.”

“It wasn’t an offer.”

“Right.” _Offer_ implied he had a choice in the matter.

“What are you doing here?” The sudden authoritative tone and clack of heels on linoleum were the only warning he had as an angry nurse came striding out of a nearby office. “Visiting hours are over.”

“Oh, are we pointing out the obvious? If so, one of your catatonic patients is miraculously awake and aware.” Juice deadpanned, earning a withering glare from the woman. “Judging by your lack of shock, you must be working with him.”

“Play nice.” Peter warned. “She’s my nurse.”

“She’s an evil bitch helping you kill people.” Derek stalked over from the clinic entrance and wasted no time knocking the nurse off the playing field by slamming his elbow into her face, rendering her unconscious. “Juice, get out of the way.”

“Yeah. Sure.” There was obviously a family matter that Juice did not need to involve himself in. “Just shout if you need help. I’ll be over here.”

Juice quickly removed himself from the line of fire, finding his way to the waiting area and hunkering down to watch the show. He had the perfect view of Derek advancing on Peter, preparing to attack. The younger wolf lunged off the wall only to be smacked down, hoisted up, and thrown over the receptions desk.

“Oh, ouch.” Juice cringed sympathetically. “You okay, Derek?”

“I’m fine.” Derek grunted as he tried uselessly to pick himself up off the floor.

“You sure you don’t need some help?” He really looked like he could use some assistance.

“I’m sure.” The younger Hale attempted to crawl away when his legs failed him.

 _“What in the hell is going on in there?”_ Stiles worried voice sounded through the phone pinned to Juice’s ear.

“Derek and his uncle are working things out.” That was one way to describe it. “The violent way.”

 _“And you’re not helping?”_ Stiles asked incredulously.

“Derek doesn’t want me to, and it’s not like I’d be much help. I can’t shoot this guy.” If Peter were just a random wolf he had stolen the alpha power, then Juice would have no problem taking him out. In this case, he was Derek’s uncle, and for better or worse, that meant something. “I know better than to get involved in other people’s family drama.”

_“Is Derek at least winning?”_

“Nope.” The wolf was getting his ass handed to him by the alpha. “His uncle’s kicking his ass.”

“My nephew never was much of a fighter.” Peter criticized his nephew. “Derek preferred to curl up on his mommy’s lap with a good book. His sisters were the scrappers.”

“Don’t talk about my sisters.” Derek spit at his uncle. “Not after you killed Laura.”

“You think I killed her on purpose? One my own family? I cared for you kids. I took care of you while Talia and her useless husband worked, and your daddy was off hunting. I am the one who helped you with your homework, read you bedtime stories, and soothed you after a nightmare. I would never have killed one of you, one of _my_ children, not before the fire.” The alpha snarled at the beta. “My mind, my personality, were literally burned out of me. I was being driven by pure instinct when I killed Laura.”

“You want forgiveness?” Derek sneered, forgiveness being the furthest thing from his mind.

“I want understanding. Do you have any idea what it was like for me all those years? Slowly healing cell by cell. If my pack had stayed close, it all would have gone a lot faster, but they abandon me. You and Laura left me like this.” Peter smoothed a hand over the patch of scars on his face. “Yes, becoming the alpha, taking that from Laura, pushed me over the plateau in the healing process. I can’t help that. I tried to tell you what was happening. I tried to warn you.”

 _“Someone’s coming.”_ Stiles whispered cautiously over the line. _“Two cars just pulled into the lot.”_

“What?” Juice shot to his feet, startling the wolves from their quarrel. “Hospital staff?”

 _“That’s my dad’s truck.”_ The teenager shrieked. _“And Bobby’s chevelle.”_

“What the hell are they doing here?” Juice kinda wanted to know how the sheriff and Bobby even knew where they were at, it’s not like they left a note.

 _“I don’t know—Oh, my god.”_ Stiles screeched as the squeal of the camaro’s door being pulled open echoed across the line. _“Hey Da-Daddy. I’m sick. I didn’t want to come. Derek made me.”_

 _“Grab your blanket, your pillow, and anything belonging to your partner in crime. I’ll drive you both home. You can go back to bed and Juice can tell me what you two were thinking tonight.”_ John told his son, purposefully loud enough for Juice to hear on his end. _“Bobby will handle what’s going on inside.”_

The call cut out as soon as Stilinski finished his sentence, while less than a second later, the automatic doors at the entrance slid open again. Bobby Singer stepped into the clinic, armed with a rifle, but not the one Juice had seen him with previously. Derek seemed conflicted by his father’s presence, worry and relief battling for a place on his face. Peter, on the other hand, did not falter nor rage, he was resigned, if not a little sad to see the hunter.

“Move away from my son, Peter.” Bobby ordered calmly.

“Don’t act like you care about him. You killed his family. You promised to protect us from the Argents and you didn’t.” The alpha hissed, tone filled with a mix of betrayal and devastation. “You let us burn.”

“I’m sorry.” Guilt and remorse clouded over Bobby’s features. “I didn’t come here to hurt you, Peter, but I can’t let you hurt my boy either.”

“He attacked me.” Peter moved away from Derek, putting distance between them to prove he was not the instigator. “I—“

“You lost control.” Bobby finished for him. “That’s to be expected, you being a new alpha and all. I wanna help you, Peter. I want to help you learn control. I don’t want you to hurt anyone else.”

“Killing Laura was an accident, but the others weren’t.” Peter growled. “They were responsible for the fire. They helped Kate set the blaze and cover it up. They deserved to die. Kate deserves to die.”

“Yes, she does, and she will be punished.” Bobby vowed to the alpha. “But not the way you’re doing it. You keep dropping bodies, more hunters will come, and they will put what’s left of your family in the ground. Do you want that? Do you want the Argents or their friends to go after Derek to get to you? Do you want Kate to hurt him?”

“She will not go anywhere near him, not again.” Peter’s fangs dropped as if he was imagining ripping Kate’s throat out. “I will tear her flesh from her bones if she so much as looks at him again.”

“We’re on the same page then. You want the people who murdered your family to pay for it, and you want to protect Derek, so do I.” Bobby’s gaze flickered briefly to his son before returning to Peter. “I am going to help you do that. Now, you can walk out of here with us, we can get dinner, and have a nice long talk, or you can be carried out and we’ll have that talk another day.”

“Carried out?” The alpha posed it as a question, but the hunter took it as an answer.

“Okay, then.” Bobby carefully aimed his gun and fired a dart at Peter’s chest. “The sedatives in those darts are specially made for you. They should kick in pretty quick, but they’ll wear off by morning.”

“Whoa.” Juice whistled as Peter swayed on his feet before losing consciousness and falling to the floor. “Bobby, do me a favor, never tell Stiles you have that gun. He’ll steal it and play target practice off the clubhouse roof, like he did when Piney bought him that paintball gun for his thirteenth birthday.”

“You do me a favor, Juice, go out to the parking lot, Sheriff Stilinski is waiting to tear you a new one.” Bobby swung the rifle toward the clinic entrance.

“He’s just gonna give me his ‘I’m disappointed in you, Juan Carlos’ look and ask me to explain why we didn’t tell anyone where we were going, what we were doing, and why we brought Stiles when he’s so sick. Bringing Stiles along, by the way, was entirely your son’s idea.” Juice was not taking the blame for that one. “How did you and Sheriff Stilinski know we were here anyway?”

“I put a tracking device on Derek’s car.” The hunter confessed, not looking the least bit apologetic about the invasion of privacy. “And Stilinski traced Stiles phone.”

“Right. Of course.” What else would two overprotective fathers do when their sons repeatedly left them out of the loop to keep them out of danger?

* * *

 

Almost as soon as the Stilinski’s arrived in Charming Christmas morning, they were separated by respective Tellers. Gemma had whisked John off to the clubhouse kitchen to help with meal preparations, while Jax had stolen Stiles away. They had traditions to uphold after all.

Every Christmas since Stiles was a year old, Jax had driven him to The Garden’s. It was Charming hotspot during the holiday season, decked out from head-to-toe with fairy lights, wreaths, garlands, and fake snow. It was a picturesque man-made winter wonderland. Jax couldn’t care less about the manufactured holiday cheer, it was a special spot off in a secluded area of the Gardens that drew him in during certain times of year.

“Here we are.” He draped an arm around his baby brother’s shoulders as they stopped beside the memorial. “Hey Tommy.”

To other guests passing by, it appeared like nothing more than your average tree, very few people understood its significance. Jax had planted it with his grandfather after Thomas had died. It was his way of honoring the promise he’d made to his little brother, to give him what he wanted, to be a tree and keep growing, even after he was gone.

Jax isn’t the one who brought the plaque that had Tommy’s name, birth, and death date on It. It had just shown up a few years ago, sometime between his visits. It was a nice addition, it helped Jax feel less like an idiot when he spoke to the tree, not that he did much of that.

When Stiles was little, they would sit cross-legged in the grass beside it and draw pictures for their lost brother, then stash them away in a little chest they kept buried near the base of the tree. Nowadays, they simply stood together in quiet reflection.

“Have you been here since Abel was born?” Stiles asked, breaking the sanctity of their silence.

“No.” He had been actively avoiding it, actually. “I wanted to wait until Abel was home, so I could bring him with me. Couldn’t stay away today, though. I didn’t want Thomas to be alone on Christmas.”

“No one should be alone during the holidays.” His brother murmured as he pulled a candy cane from his pocket and hung it from a tree branch. “Dad and I left wreaths at Mom and Grandpa’s graves. I figured the rotary club or Women of Charming, whoever decorated this place, had it drowning in wreaths, and I wanted to bring Thomas something different. I remembered you saying something about him having a sweet tooth.”

“Candy canes are a good choice, Tommy couldn’t stop eating them during Christmas time.” Their mom had to resort to sly means to hide them if she wanted to save a few. “Gemma had to stop putting them on our Christmas tree because he’d sneak in and take them in the middle of the night. She had to stop making holiday cookies because of me.”

“I’m sure the cookies my dad makes are better than Gemma’s.” He would let that comment slide, on account of Stiles not actually having firsthand knowledge of just about delicious Gemma’s Christmas cookies were. “Did Thomas like her cookies?”

“He probably would have, had I ever let him have any.” He and Tommy had an unspoken deal where Jax got the cookies, Tommy got the candy canes. “Consider yourself lucky that you weren’t around when I was a kid and lived on sugary treats.”

“You would still live on sugary snacks if I didn’t do your grocery shopping.” Stiles countered. “I would’ve liked to have been around then, so I could’ve known Thomas.”

“You two would have fought like cats and dogs.” Jax’s two little brothers were polar opposites of each other. “You’d always be fighting over my attention.”

“You’re so full of yourself.” Stiles knocked their shoulders together good-naturedly. “We would have been buds and left you out in the cold. You would have been so sad. You’ve might’ve cried.”

“Yeah, right.” There was absolutely no universe in existence where Jax would be ignored by his siblings. “You and I both know that I’m your favorite person in the entire world, even Tommy couldn’t top me.”

“It’s adorable that you think that.” His baby brother smirked. “ _You_ are the one who should feel lucky. You don’t have to compete for my attention. I, on the other hand, have always had to one-up the club members who had sixteen years to bond with you before I came along.”

“Oh, come on, you never had to prove anything.” Jax never made Stiles fight for a place in his life. The kid had come before the club since the day he was born. “I like you better than I like them.”

“You don’t, but that’s okay. I’ve gotten used to it by now.” Stiles remarked sarcastically and swiftly changed the subject. “Did you bring anything for Thomas?”

“I’m gonna bring something in a few days.” He wanted to wait until he saw his son. “I want to give him a picture of Abel. You’re gonna take a good one, right?”

“From outside the door? Nope.” The teenager took a tissue from his pocket and wiped snot from his nose. “They aren’t going to let me see him and I wouldn’t even if I could, not while I’m sick.”

“Damn it.” He really wanted his baby brother to be there with him when he was finally able to hold his son. “We’ll go again when you’re feeling better, just the two of us, so you can hold him. Okay?”

“Okay.” Stiles agreed, pulling his jacket tighter around him. “I’m cold, Jax.”

“All right, buddy,” Jax pulled his little brother close to share his warmth. “Let’s go home. We have a few hours until we have to be at the clubhouse, and I still have to make my side dish for dinner.”

“Jax, you can’t cook.” Stiles broke the news with a pitying tone. “I mean, macaroni and cheese, hamburgers and hotdogs, sure, but anything other than that, we go running for the takeout menus. There is a reason I usually do that cooking when I’m in town.”

“Gemma said I couldn’t store-buy this year.” His mom had gone on a long tirade about how he was an adult now and needed to act like it, and apparently, that meant learning to cook properly. “It’s just mashed potatoes. Pretty simple, right?”

“For a normal person? Yes. For you? Not so much.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

 

Dean had gone through a lot of trouble to make his last Christmas the best it could possibly be. He bought and made gifts for the people he cared about. He and Sam had ganked the pagan gods in nearly record time. He’d even wrapped the Carrigans tree up in plastic, tied it to the top of the Impala, and drove it all the way to Charming.

Once he finally made it to town, he figured he would have help moving the tree from his car to the house. Of course his assumption was wrong, Sam had fucked off to Beacon Hills as soon as Dean had parked the car, and Jax hadn’t been home. Dean was forced to use his own key to get into the house and carry the damn tree in all by himself.

The tree as pretty easy to set up once he shoved away some of the shit Jax had piled up in the corner of the living room. He steadied it on the stand and unraveled the plastic covering. He was pushing down the branches and adjusting the ornaments when Jax finally graced him with his presence.

“What the hell is that thing?” Jax questioned as he shucked off his kutte and hung it up by the door. “You brought me a Christmas tree?”

“Yep.” He grinned proudly at his bounty.

“It’s nice.” The Son said approvingly. “Where’d you get it?”

“It’s kind of a long story.” He admitted sheepishly. “It’s probably better if you don’t ask.”

“You either stole that thing from someone you saved or something you killed.” Jax called bullshit a hell of a lot quicker than Dean expected him too. “Which is it?”

“Okay, it belonged to the pagan gods who tried to sacrifice Sam and me.” Dean figured he deserved a reward for ganking them, and their tree made a nice prize. “I wasn’t gonna let it go to waste, and you didn’t have one yet.”

“There’s a Christmas tree at the clubhouse, I don’t need one here.” That made sense, Jax spent more time at the clubhouse than home anyway. “But thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t think you’d make it back so soon.” The Son mentioned as he laid down on the couch, stretching himself across it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t miss Abel being released from the incubator.” He was curious as to how Jax had managed to convince the baby’s doctor to come in on a holiday, but he was smart enough not to ask too many questions. “It’s after dinner tonight, right?”

“Yep.”

“Is everyone going straight to the hospital?” Abel getting out of the slow cooker was a big deal, Dean expected Jax’s entire extended family to be in attendance.

“It’s just you, me, Mom, Stiles, and John.” Immediate family only then. “Clay and the guys have a meeting with the Irish, so they won’t be there. You and Gem are gonna be the only ones in there with me. Stiles is gonna wait outside, ‘cause he’s sick, and his dad will stay with him.”

“Where is that kid anyway?” One thing Dean could count on was Jax having his little brother attached to his hip during Christmas. “Don’t you two have your super secret holiday ritual to get on with?”

“Just finished that actually.” Jax said as moved his feet to make room on the sofa. “I dropped Stiles off at Opie’s. He likes cuddling with Donna when he’s sick, something about her being the only woman who’s loved him since he was a baby.”

“She acts like his mama bear. She’ll baby him all he wants.” Donna treated Stiles the same way she did her own children. “Since she’s got Stiles, I guess that means she’s not helping with dinner tonight?”

“Sticking Gemma and Donna in the kitchen together is just as bad as locking Stiles in there with Gem. Tempers would rise, blood would be shed. And Donna hits back, Stiles doesn’t.” Jax chuckled darkly. “Dinner, though, Gem’s gonna need a final head count.”

‘You know I’ll be there.” There was no way Dean was going to miss the feast, he couldn’t say the same about the rest of his family. “I wouldn’t count on Sam showing up. He hates Christmas. Apparently, our childhood holidays were so terrible that he can’t bear to celebrate as an adult.”

“Were they that bad?”

“Dad couldn’t always be there Christmas day,” Dean acknowledged as he sat beside the other man on the couch. “But he never missed Christmas.”

“What does that mean?” Jax asked as he draped his legs over Dean’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“He would show up the day after Christmas, sometimes a couple days later, and he’d sneak into the motel room while Sam and I were sleeping.” His dad tried so hard not to wake them, he didn’t want them to see their surprise until it was finished. “He’d decorate the room with lights and tinsel. He would bring home the sorry looking tree, because all the good ones were gone by then. He would make hot chocolate and wake us up to open the presents he’d brought.”

“That sounds nice.”

“I wish Sam thought so. You know, I think he hates it so much because it was on Christmas that he found out about hunting and monsters.” His brother had learned the truth and turned into a miserable little shit. “He always acts like we forced this life on him, when really we tried to keep him out of it for as long as we could. He found out by being nosy. He found Dad’s journal and I had to explain everything. I think learning all that, what Dad really did for a living, is what made Sam start to resent him, to hate him.”

“Why would that make him hate your dad?” Jax furrowed his brows. “Your dad saved people, hunted things most people would run away screaming from. He was a fucking warrior. Sam should be proud of that.”

“Dad was out there, saving someone else’s family instead of staying at home with us.” And yeah, maybe Dean felt a little resentful too, but it was nowhere near how strongly his brother felt. “Sam never realized that Dad was preparing himself to fight Azazel. He was preparing us. Azazel was always coming for Sam, that’s why we kept moving. That’s why we had to be strong. We didn’t know that growing up. Dad didn’t want us to know.”

“He didn’t want you to know Azazel killed your mom to get to Sam. He didn’t want Sam to carry that guilt.” Jax reasoned thoughtfully. “He didn’t want you to blame your brother for what happened to your mom.”

“Dad let us hate him instead. He let us believe he did all of it for revenge.” Dean always knew his father was strong, he had to be to live with his children’s resentment for so long. “He did it for us, to protect us.”

“He loved you.” Jax smiled softly. “He protected you, saved you, because he loved you. That’s what we do when we love someone. And parents, they protect their kids at all costs, right?’

“Yeah, they do.” Dean had seen those costs weigh on his father every day. Hell, he had felt those costs himself. “It comes with being a big brother too. So, you are already well equipped for it. You have a little brother, now you have a son. You will protect and love Abel with the same fierceness you love and protect Stiles with.”

“Hopefully, Abel will make the protecting bit a lot easier.” Jax knocked his head back against the arm of the couch. “Did you know Stiles, Juice, and Derek went after the alpha by themselves last night?”

“They did what?” There was no way in hell those three could be that stupid.

“They found him too. They didn’t tell me who it is, but they know now.” Jax shook his head at the kids antics. “It was reckless, per usual, but it got the job done. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know everyone is still breathing.”

“I’ll talk to Bobby about it later.” He might also have to talk to Bobby about reining in Derek, the wolf went off on his own far too much and it never ended well. “No dessert for those three tonight, consider that their punishment.”

“You just want their portions of pie, you bottomless pit.” Jax playfully kicked Dean’s thigh. “It’s not enough for you to get Sam’s portions if he decides not to show.”

“He’s not gonna show.” There was no ‘if’ about it.

“You’re really bitter about that.” Jax observed with a lack of judgment. “Sam’s missed holidays before and you never seemed to mind. Why is this one different?”

“Because it’s my las—“ Dean caught himself before he could confess something he wasn’t ready for Jax know. “It’s the first Christmas I’m celebrating since Dad died, we didn’t do anything last year. And it’s the first Christmas I’m able to spend with you. Since my parents are gone, I was hoping Sam would be there with us.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” The Son frowned sympathetically. “There will be other holidays. We can wear your brother down until he decides to spend one with us. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean didn’t have the heart to tell Jax there wouldn’t be any more holidays, not for him.

“I didn’t realize the holidays were so special to you.” Jax noted sadly.

“They aren’t, not usually.” He just didn’t want to waste his final one. “It’s this one. This one is special, or it’s supposed to be.”

“It’s still going to be special. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

* * *

 

Bobby sent Derek and Sam out shortly after lunch. Sam wasn’t pleased, having just arrived, while Derek hadn’t been thrilled to leave Bobby on his own. They’d both complained and pled their cases, but eventually did as Bobby requested. With the boys out of the way, it left just he and Peter in the loft.

The alpha was sitting on the floor at the far wall beneath the windows. His wrists and ankles were bound with shackles that had been soaked in wolfsbane to prevent him from breaking free. He had been in the same place all night, he hadn’t spoken or slept, just sat in silence as Bobby and Derek acted as if he wasn’t there at all. Bobby intended to end their makeshift standoff while the kids were gone.

“Take this,” He handed a mug of hot liquid over to the wolf. “It ain’t good, but it’s warm.”

“Should I thank you for the bad coffee?” Peter muttered as he accepted the cup. “Or, perhaps, for my wonderful accommodations?”

“I don’t want your ‘thanks’ for anything.” Bobby slid a chair over to sit across from his son’s uncle. “I just want to talk.”

“Talk.” Peter set his coffee aside to give Bobby his full attention. “About what? How you lied to my sister? You promised to protect her from hunters and they burned her alive.”

“I know.” He would live with that guilt for the rest of his life. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know how much you loved, Talia. She raised you like her own son, and you loved her as you would have loved the mother you never had.” Talia and Peter’s mother had died giving birth to Peter. Talia had been the most formidable maternal figure in her brother’s life. “But she’s not the only one you lost that night. She’s not the one you would save if you could go back and do it again.”

“Don’t.” Peter warned, eyes bleeding red.

“Your wife would have burned you herself for trying to save her over one of your boys.” Gwen had been a fierce woman, not unlike Talia. “Your boys, Wyatt and Max, they’re why you hate me. I didn’t stop the Argents and they killed your sons.”

“Max was the first to die. Did you know that? He was only three. He was so small, so innocent and scared, and so _human_.” Max's humanity made him more vulnerable than the others. “He never had a chance to burn. The smoke killed him before the flames could touch his skin.”

“I’m sorry.” Considering how the boy could have suffered, the smoke inhalation may have been a blessing in disguise.

“Wyatt had to watch his mother burn before he suffered the same fate.” Peter dug his claws into the meat of his thigh. “I was trying to get a window open while Gwen used her body to shield Wyatt from the flames. She didn’t scream when the fire touched her. She didn’t make a sound.”

“She didn’t want to scare your boy anymore than he already was.” Bobby couldn’t imagine the kind of pain Gwen must have felt and the strength it took for her not to show it. “She tried to protect your boys so you could get that window open.”

“It was too late. I couldn’t get it open in time to save anyone.” The wolf growled, angry at himself for his failure. “I thought…I thought Cora made it. She was right there with me trying to get the window open. I could’ve sworn she got out, that one of the kids survived, but she’s not here, so I guess I was wrong. Getting that window open was pointless. I should have been with Gwen and our boys.”

“You did get Cora out. She made it.” The youngest Hale was still recovering from her injuries when Bobby had come across her in the preserve days after the fire. “She hid in the woods until I found her. I got her to your cousin Echo’s pack in South America.”

“Echo? You left her with Echo? The woman eats magic mushrooms and drops acid to go on dream walks.” Peter may have had a point there, Echo might not have been the most responsible guardian, but she had been the only one available at the time. “Cora would have been better off in the woods. Satomi’s pack would have taken her in eventually.”

“Echo’s a little eccentric, but she means well, and Cora needed to be with family.” Echo had welcomed the girl in with open arms when Bobby dropped her off. “Echo may be open-minded, but her pack sure isn’t. They didn’t take kindly to a hunter checking up on their new member. They stopped taking my calls a few months after the fire. I assume Cora is still there, safe and sound.”

“Derek hasn’t made the trip to look in on her himself.” Peter deduced easily. “He’s afraid he’ll go there and she’ll be gone, either dead or missing.”

“Yes.” Bobby had suggested making the trip several times, but Derek had continued to be resistant to the idea. “She’s a tough kid. I believe, wherever she is, she’s still alive.”

“She should be with Derek.” The alpha declared firmly. “He needs his sister.”

“And she needs her brother.” Unlike Derek, Cora had been without a sibling since the fire. “She could’ve used her big sister too.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt Laura.” Peter repeated what he had said the previous night with the same conviction, but more sadness in his tone. “I was angry with her, but I never would have hurt her intentionally.”

“You have every right to be angry with her. She became the alpha, she was supposed to take care of her pack, but she only took care of one member.” Bobby was sympathetic to Peter’s plight, but found it hard to be angry at Laura when the pack member she took into her charge was his son. “She took off with Derek the moment she could and left you helpless in the hospital. When she and Derek were settled in New York, she could have had you transferred to a hospital nearby, so they could visit, but she didn’t. She left you alone.”

“ _Six years_. They didn’t visit once in six years. The most they did was call my doctor every so often to see if I was still alive.” The wolf sneered. “Laura only came after a nurse noticed changes in my vitals and alerted her. She didn’t care how I was doing until it looked like I was finally going to wake up.”

“Was that what was going through your mind when you killed her?” He just wanted to understand, for himself and for Derek.

“I don’t remember killing her. I don’t remember hurting her at all.” Peter confessed despondently. “The full moon rose and the next thing I know, I’m covered in my nieces blood.”

“I’m not gonna excuse what you did to her.” How and why Laura was killed did not overshadow the fact that she was dead. “But there is a reason for that saying, ‘the lone wolf dies, the pack survives.’ Wolves without packs go feral. You were without a pack for six years.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Peter ducked his head in an attempt to keep Bobby from seeing the tears glistening in his eyes. “Derek will never accept it. He will never forgive me for killing his big sister, and I wouldn’t ask him to.”

“He will never forgive you, neither will Cora.” Bobby agreed. “With time, he’ll understand it. You have to give him that time. You have to show him you’re not just some murderer. He needs to know the uncle he grew up with is still in there somewhere.”

“I don’t know if he is or if he was burned out of me like everything else.” Peter sighed dejectedly.

“Why don’t we find out?” He suggested, hoping he could mend something between two of the remaining Hales to prevent more bloodshed within the family. “You can have a shot at playing the good uncle tonight. Dean’s friend Jax and his family are hosting a dinner tonight and Derek and I are supposed to be there. You can come with us.”

“No.” The alpha swiftly put his foot down.

“ _No_ is not really an option for you, if you hadn’t noticed.” Bobby snagged the chain of the shackles and gave them a good shake. “You are going, you’re going to be nice, and you will use your manners and be the gentleman Talia raised you to be.”

“You used that line on Derek before me, didn’t you?”

“I might have.” He did have to reach into his bag of tricks to convince his son to attend the dinner as well. “You’re going to the dinner.”

“Fine.”

* * *

 

Heading to the clubhouse early turned out to be a bad idea, Jax and Dean found that out after they were chased out of the kitchen by Gemma for trying to steal food. They’d been banished to the garage with threats of no dinner whatsoever if they kept up their crap. It was for the best, really, things were starting to get a little weird in the kitchen.

“Is it just me or was Luann trying to rub up on Sheriff Stilinski?” Dean asked as he leaned against the Impala. “She got right in here and caressed his butt when he was bent over the stove.”

“She was getting pretty handsy.” Jax chuckled, unable to get the image of John nearly jumping out of his skin when Luann came up behind him to cop a feel out of his mind. “He looked kinda scared. I would’ve stepped in to save him, but I know Mom will put a stop to it if Luann goes too far. Gemma’s pretty territorial when it comes to her men.”

“Even the ones who don’t belong to her.” Dean remarked, obviously naïve enough to believe that Gemma did not have some kind of claim on every man in her life.

“She had a kid with him, to her that might as well mean she owns his ass.” Jax had a front row seat to his mother’s particular brand of possessiveness, it wasn’t always logical. “Any other woman that wants him has to go through her.”

“Does he know that?”

“Probably not. He got lucky with Claudia. That was a woman who could handle herself and didn’t take anyone’s shit, including Gemma’s.” Jax had actually rooted for Claudia when she had gone toe-to-toe with his mom. “The next chick John decides to bring around better know how to throw down.”

“Gonna have to be to get past the wall that is Gemma.” Dean cackled and glanced around the garage, his eyes catching on a vehicle parked in the second garage bay. “Why the hell do you have an ambulance?”

“Sack boosted it when he and Juice were out doing the repo runs.” Someone needed to have a serious talk with those two about what they could and could not do on company time. “So, hey, we don’t do gifts and shit….”

“Not usually.”

“But, I, uh, I was in a giving mood.” Jax took a brown leather wrist cuff from his pocket and handed it off to the hunter. “It’s not much.”

“It’s nice.” Dean inspected the cuff carefully, skimming his thumb over the silver pendant sewn onto the top of it. “A compass?”

“So you can always find your way back here, back home.” It was more symbolic than literal, the compass didn’t actually work, it was just a charm to accent the cuff. “Or so you always know you have a home…here with me.”

“It’s great, Jax. Thank you.” Dean fastened the cuff to his wrist, noting for the first time, a familiar mark burned onto the leather near the clasp. “A Sons of Anarchy reaper. You trying to tell me something?”

“I’m not asking you to join the club or anything.” Jax knew that wasn’t going to happen, and he was more than okay with that. The club was his thing, whereas hunting was Dean’s. “It’s just…it is what it is.”

“I got something for you too.” Dean stuck his hand through the Impala’s open driver side window and picked a package off the front seat. “I guess our penchant for leather extends past jackets and kuttes.”

“Oh yeah?” Jax unwrapped the gift from the parchment paper to find a leather bound journal with his initials, _JNT,_ stamped to the cover. “If you think I’m gonna be writing you love poems or sonnets about your pretty green eyes—“

“Fuck you.” Dean gave his shoulder a halfhearted shove. “It’s supposed to be meaningful not a fucking joke.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t mean to be an ass about it. “I’m just surprised you’d get me a journal is all.”

“My dad’s journal is on my very few prized possessions. It means the most to me, even more than the Impala—not that I don’t love you, baby.” The hunter smoothed a hand over the Impala’s hood. “And I’ve caught glimpses of JT’s manuscript when you’ve got your head stuck in it. I know it’s important to you.”

“I don’t know what it is yet.” The journal was still new to him, the shock of reading his father’s hopes, dreams, and regrets on paper had yet to wear off. “I mean, when I remember my dad, he’s kind of an absentee prick. You met him, he wasn’t the most charming guy. The manuscript helps me see a different side of him, one I wish he had shown us when he was alive.”

“The best part of my dad’s journal isn’t the monster knowledge. It’s the pages dedicated to Sam and I’s childhood, it's the family photos stuffed in every nook and cranny. And then there’s these little tidbits, side notes thrown in between all the stuff on monsters, about completely benign things we did that Dad just had to write down.” Dean took in a shaky breath as the long held grief over his father’s death caught him off guard. “You gotta do that for Abel, Jackson. Don’t write about the club or your conquests or what you wished you could have done with your life. Write about being his dad.”

“I will.” He couldn’t promise the club shit wouldn’t get mixed in, it was such a huge part of their lives, but he would do his best. “Thank you.”

“I made a CD too, for the kid. You can play it for him when he comes home.” The hunter tried to push them past their fathers to the safer topic of Abel.

“Hey,” Stiles hoarse voice interrupted them as he stepped into the garage. “Gemma said you guys have to set the table. She also said Dean had something for me.”

“Yep. Here,” Dean pulled a set of car keys from his pocket and tossed them to the teenager, who let them fall to the ground without bothering to try to catch them. “Dude, you suck.”

“Why are you throwing things at me?” Stiles groused, scowling at the keys on the floor like they personally offended him. “I’m not playing designated driver with your stupid Impala after you get hammered tonight.”

“You’re sick, so I’ll let the insult about my baby go, just this once.” Dean glared daggers at the kid. “And those aren’t my keys, they’re yours. I fixed the Jeep.”

“You touched my Jeep?” Stiles narrowed his in suspicion. “Why?”

“It’s a Christmas gift and a peace offering.” Dean snatched the keys off the ground and smacked them not-so gently into Stiles palm. “I fixed your precious Jeep, so you’d stop being such an ass about the whole _I used your brother as bait_ thing, ‘cause, you know, that was weeks ago. You need to get over it.”

“It would have been a better plan had you shut up at _‘it’s a Christmas gift._ ’” Stiles acknowledged, his face giving no indication of whether or not he planned to do as Dean requested or continue to hold a grudge. “Did you pay for the parts or did you have Gemma put it on your tab?”

“She put it on my tab….” Dean said hesitantly. “Why does that matter?”

“Well, you see, you never pay your tab. If she knew the parts your ordered were for my Jeep, she would take the money out of my paycheck.” Stiles snapped irritably, while Dean wilted. “But, you did save me a lot of time by doing the actual repairs, and for that, I will give you one night of peace, and that is tonight.”

“I’d take that deal.” Jax urged Dean, knowing that was about as far on the high road as his little brother was ever going to get. “That’s the best offer he’ll give you.”

“Fine. Deal.” Dean grudgingly accepted the measly excuse of a peace offering. “Hey, that Jeep was my Christmas gift to you too, kid. Where’s my gift from you?”

“Jax texted me earlier about Sam’s reluctance to join in on the holiday cheer, so I took initiative, and had a lengthy discussion with your brother about how not to be a selfish prick.” It was funny how Stiles could say a simple word like ‘discussion’ and have it sound like a threat of imminent death. “He’ll be hitching a ride to dinner with Bobby.”

“Nice work, kiddo.” Jax praised his little brother. “All right, let’s go set the table like Gemma asked or she’ll sit us at the kids table again.”

* * *

 

Stiles idea of setting the table was curling up on the couch with his head resting on Donna’s lap, while he watched Jax and Dean do all the work. He wasn’t the only one taking the lazy way out, Clay, Bobby Elvis, Chibs, Half-Sack, and Tig were in a heated game of poker, Piney and Opie were playing their second round of pool, and Juice was engrossed in _Call of Duty_ on his computer. In true holiday spirit, anyone not assigned a specific task by Mama Gemma was not lifting a finger to help.

“You feeling any better, sweetie?” Donna murmured as she combed her fingers over his scalp.

“A little.” He was almost fully conscious and was no longer sick to his stomach, he was counting that as a win. “You just keep doing what you’re doing with your nails and my head, it feels good. It helps me feel better.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Donna snorted and continued massaging his scalp.

The ministrations probably would soothed him right to sleep if the clubhouse door hadn’t swung open. The chattering voices and stomping of feet were signal enough that the last of the guests had arrived, Bobby, Sam, and the two Hale men.

“Hey guys,” Jax greeted the group. “Invite or not, a side dish is your price of admission.”

“Green bean casserole.” Bobby held up a glass pan with foil covering the top. “It just needs to be heated up.”

“You can take it into the kitchen. The ovens probably free by now.” Jax motioned toward the other room. “Dinners about done. You all can grab a drink and take a seat.”

“Sammy,” Dean pasted on a nervous smile for his brother. “Glad you could make it.”

“Wasn’t really given a choice.” The younger Winchester glowered over his shoulder at Stiles. “But I’m here.”

“I believe the agreement was that you at least pretend to be here on your own volition, and you enjoy yourself, or I shoot you.” Stiles pulled himself into a sitting position, leaving the warmth Donna offered him. “Since you actually showed up, I won’t shoot you. I’ll settle for stabbing you in the leg with a steak knife at dinner.”

“It’s nice to know you haven’t lost your sass, Stiles.” Peter Hale grinned manically. “I recall you had it in spades as a child.”

“Uh, thanks?” He did consider his sass to be one of his best traits. “I didn’t know they were bringing you along.”

“Oh, well, they couldn’t leave me chained up in the loft all by myself.” Peter made a ‘what can you do’ gesture with his hands before taking note of several sets of eyes staring at him uncertainly. “Hello.”

“Who’s this guy?” Jax asked, sending an incredulous look Stiles way.

“Peter Hale, Derek’s uncle, and the alpha we’ve been looking for.” Stiles said bluntly, not seeing a point in beating around the bush. “He’s kind of our hostage.”

“’Hostage’ implies you are holding me for a ransom. I’m more of a willing captive.” Peter clarified the situation.

“You’re the one who tried to kill Stiles and the other kids at the school a few weeks back.” Piney tightened his grip on the pool cue as if he was prepared to use it as a weapon. Peter, to his surprise, took a cautionary step back, as if he were honestly afraid of the old man.

“As I told the short young man with the poor choice in haircuts,” Peter waved a hand toward Juice who flipped him the bird in response. “I would not have killed Stiles, or my nephew for that matter. Everyone else in the school, however, were fair game.”

“Yeah, well, if I knew then what I know now, I might have let you kill everyone else.” Stiles admitted bitterly

“We’re inviting hostages to Christmas dinner now?” Jax questioned, brows raised high on his forehead.

“I guess even prisoners deserve Christmas dinner.” Stiles shrugged. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the fact that we have a hostage?”

“You would think so, but no.” Jax gave the alpha a quick once-over then shifted his glance to Derek. “Does he need to be restrained?”

“He’s okay for now, I think.” The wolf gave his uncle wide-birth, obviously uncomfortable in the older man’s presence. “Dad unshackled him this morning and he didn’t try to kill us or escape.”

“I might have, if only to get away from the incessant ringing of your cellphone. Thankfully, it annoyed you too and you threw it against a wall.” Peter retorted as he made himself at home, taking a seat at the head of the table. “I don’t even think you were that popular in high school.”

“The idiotic teenager you bit in the woods is the one who kept calling last night.” Derek snarled at his uncle. “He wasn’t calling for me, he just wanted to know if I’d seen Stiles.”

“I was getting the same calls from Scott until I blocked his number.” Jax disclosed, leveling Stiles with an unimpressed look. “It’s time for you to drop that little bastard.”

“Yeah,” He couldn’t say he disagreed with his brother, not after everything that had transpired. “Maybe it is.”

“Up until recently he’s been a good friends to you,” Admitting that was probably as rough as having teeth pulled for Jax. “But if he’s proved anything these last few months, it’s that he’s disloyal.”

“I know that, Jackson.” He had figured that one out all on his own. “I guess I was holding out hope that things would change, that his attitude was a result of this werewolf crap, and it would blow over when he got used to it.”

“It’s not werewolf bullshit. It’s pussy.” His brother remarked crudely. “As soon as that Argent chick smiled at him real pretty, he went over to the dark side. He’s proven, multiple times, that he will choose the bitch spreading her legs for him over your, his best friend.”

“You could write it off as first love bullshit and hope he gets over it. Chances are, though, he pulls this crap once, he’ll do it again.” Donna added. “The level in which he’s willing to sink for a girl he barely knows is disgusting. It shows you exactly what kind of person he is.”

“He wanted to throw your dad to the wolves, literally, rather than put _her_ dad in danger. To make matters worse, her dad kills wolves for a living.” Jax’s eyes flashed with anger. “I know that’s not something you’ll forgive. My fear is that your loyalty to him will allow you to look past your anger and hatred. He’ll call you for help and you’ll go running like you’re his bitch or something.”

“I’m not gonna let him die.” He was an asshole not a heartless bastard. “But I won’t go running every time he calls. I won’t be a sounding board for his sorrows, his punching bag, or his fall guy. Not anymore.”

“Glad to hear it.” Jax smiled approvingly. “I know you don’t have many friends in Beacon Hills, but you deserve better than McCall. No friends is better than one who would sell you out in a heartbeat.”

“Scott and I aren’t going to be friends anymore.” Stiles was on the same page as his brother in regards to that. “But we are going to interact, it’s impossible not to when we go to school together. And we’re both involved in this werewolf crap, so our paths are bound to cross sooner or later.”

“Well, you know, without Scott you don’t actually need to be knee-deep in wolf shit.” Jax pointed out in a hopeful tone. “You can be safe.”

“Scott’s not the only player on the board.” His former friend was only a pawn in a much larger game. “Derek’s in this fight too, way deeper than Scott is.”

“I can take care of myself.” Derek claimed indignantly. “I don’t need your help.”

“Oh, please, you can use all the help you can get, dude.” Juice chimed in. “You got your ass kicked up and down that clinic.”

“You could have helped him out,” Stiles didn’t entirely understand why Juice hadn’t stepped in. “Instead of just watching from the sidelines.”

“Hey, I went to help identify the alpha, not get involved in a family feud.” Juice argued defensively. “Stay out of people’s family business, that’s the golden rule.”

“Especially when you have enough family drama of your own,” Gemma said from the kitchen doorway, holding a cordless phone in her hands. “Apparently, your cell is turned off, _Juan Carlos_. Your sister has taken to calling the landline.”

“Uh,” Juice swiveled his desk chair around and jumped to his feet. “I’m not here. Tell her I rode up to Yosemite or something.”

“You mean, this year I don’t have to lie and tell her I could have sworn you got on a plane back to Queens last night, and that you were just so excited about spending the holiday with your family? Yeah, I’ll just feed her a different lie.” Gemma shook her head, while Juice took the opportunity to bolt the hall. “Get back here. Dinner’s ready.”

“I’m not hungry.” Juice declared as he skedaddled up the ladder that led to the roof.

“You can time his holiday blues with Stiles winter flu.” The matriarch sighed as she brought the phone to her ear. “Did you get all that, Marisol? Yeah, Juan Carlos won’t be making it back to Queens this year. Sorry, darlin.”

“That damn kid has got to stop promising his family he’ll visit for Christmas.” Piney commented, pinning Stiles with an expectant look. “You should talk to him about that.”

“Yep.”

Stiles stood from the couch and made his way to the ladder Juice had ascended. Climbing to the roof took more energy than it ever should have, by the time he made it he was out of breath and in the midst of a coughing fit.

“Christ,” Juice reached out to steady him. “You okay?”

“I, uh, I came up here to ask you that.” Stiles groaned as he struggled to catch his breath. “I-I don’t recommend climbing up here when you’re sick.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but he also didn’t want Juice to sit on the roof all night and brood. “You get funny this time of year.”

“I’m okay.” Juice murmured as he stepped over to the ledge overlooking the garage.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He wasn’t going to push Juice into doing something he wasn’t ready to. “If you wanted to, I’m a pretty good listener.”

“There’s not much to tell.” _‘Not much’_ didn’t equal nothing.

“But there is something.” Okay, so maybe he would push a little. “Is your sister the only one in your family that calls during the holidays?”

“My mom calls. I always let it go to voicemail.” Juice ducked his head in shame. “She calls on my birthday too, but I don’t answer.”

“Why not?” Stiles didn’t know much about Juice’s family, but he always got the impression that under all the daddy issues, Juice was a bit of a mama’s boy. Perhaps he was wrong. “You two don’t get along?”

“We do. We used to.”

“What happened?”

“My mom, she…she’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever been in the presence of. She’s like the light, or the sunshine, whatever.” Juice stumbled over his words as he gushed over his mother. “I broke her heart, you know. I dulled that light that made her who she was. If I answer the phone, if I talk to her, I’ll hear it in her voice. I’ll hear the damage I caused.”

“Or, maybe, you’ll hear a mother who misses her son.” Stiles wouldn’t pretend to know anything about Juice’s relationship with his mom, but there had to be a reason the woman kept trying to contact her son after all these years. “Does she only call?”

“I get letters from her sometimes. On Valentine’s Day she sends boxes of those chalky heart candies, the ones with the words on them, like she still thinks I’m five-years old.” Juice laughed quietly to himself. “She doesn’t only call on special occasions. Sometimes she’ll call on random days, and she’ll leave a long voicemail telling me about her day and how the family’s doing. I think she does that when she’s lonely, when my brothers and sisters are busy with their lives, and she just wants someone to talk to.”

“Not someone, _you_. She wants to talk to _you_.” It sounded like Mrs. Ortiz was trying to keep Juice informed on their family so when he did finally come home, he wouldn’t feel out of place or lost. “You don’t answer her calls, but do you write back when she sends a letter? Tell me you don’t just leave your poor mama hanging.”

“I send her presents. Valentine’s Day she gets flowers and chocolate, the expensive shit too, so I know my siblings can’t out-do me. On Mother’s Day is jewelry, tasteful stuff, nothing flashy, she’s not big on bling.” Juice ticked off the special occasions on his fingers. “On her birthday, I special order her favorite cake and have it delivered to the house.”

“And I’m sure you included heartfelt notes with all your gifts so she knows how much you care about her.” Gifts were nice and all, but in the end they were just material things.

“The presents kind of do that themselves, don’t they?” So that was a _no_ on the notes. “They show that I’m thinking of her.”

“Yeah, sure.” It lacked real emotion, but it was obviously the best Juice could bring himself to do. “Do you feel guilty about not putting in more of an effort to reestablish your relationship with your mother?”

“Before I answer that— have you been reading psych textbooks again?” Juice questioned apprehensively. “You’re not allowed to play amateur shrink with us anymore, that's been a rule since you called Jax as a narcissist with an Oedipus complex.”

“To be fair, I classified the majority of the club members that way.” He stood by that analysis. “If you recall, I brought up your relationship with your mother then too. Bright side is your mommy issues are vastly different than Jax’s.”

“You said I didn’t take to calling Gemma _mom_ , like a lot of the guys do, because it would be like I was betraying my own mother. Which, yeah, is true, I guess.” Juice conceded to that assessment. “And to answer your question from before, yes, I feel like shit for not trying to fix our relationship. Do you ever feel guilty about you and Gem?”

“Fuck no.” Stiles had nothing to feel guilty for where his relationship with Gemma was concerned. “She abandon me, not the other way around.”

“She’s tried to repair the damage, in her own messed up way.” Juice acknowledged warily, as if he knew he was straddling a line he wasn’t prepared to cross. “You, like me, refuse to put in the effort to reestablish that relationship.”

“There’s nothing to _reestablish_ between me and Gem.” There would have had to be some kind of relationship previously, for there to be anything to reestablish. “We would be formulating an entirely new relationship, one not built on abandonment, mistrust, and resentment. It is not the same thing as you and your mom.”

“Different things brought us to the same place. Gemma put the distance between the two of you originally, but you fight like hell to keep it there to punish her. I pushed my mom away so I couldn’t hurt her more than I already had, and that’s why I keep her away.” Juice remarked. “The ball is in our court. It’s up to us to fix it or not. You could fix it by telling Gem you actually care about her. All I have to do is call my mom.”

“Two things that have a slim chance in hell of happening.” Personally, Stiles did not have any intention of mending fences with Gemma, and he doubted Juice had the balls to do it with his own mother. “You’re a wuss and I’m as stubborn as they come.”

“I’m not a wuss.” Juice squawked petulantly. “And I’ll prove it. I’ll call my mom, if –“

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I will call my mom, if you tell Gemma you love her.” Juice finished, looking incredibly pleased with himself for the challenge he put forward. “Deal?”

“Fine. Deal.” He accepted the challenge, if only to wipe that smug look off Juice’s face. “Can we go back inside now? I’m freezing.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Juice descended the ladder first and kept close while Stiles climbed down, ensuring he didn’t fall in the event of another coughing fit. Stiles was pleasantly surprised when the other man placed a guiding hand on the small of his back as they made their way back to the main room.

“Freeze.” Donna ordered loudly, startled them both to a standstill. “Look up.”

Stiles and Juice shared a perplexed look and obediently turned their gazes upward to find a piece of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling above their heads.

“Oh.” Juice said breathlessly as his eyes met Stiles'.

“Oh.” Stiles echoed the sentiment, licking his lips invitingly.

Stiles refused to appear as nervous as he felt. He didn’t duck his head, his cheeks didn’t flush crimson, and he didn’t shift anxiously on his feet. No, he stood tall, held Juice’s gaze, and pursed his lips, waiting for Juice to decide how this was going to play out. He half expected the other man to be mindful of their audience and give him nothing but a chaste peck on the cheek. It was almost a shock when Juice settled his hands on his hips and pulled him in, pressing their lips together in a tender kiss.

“Aww.” Donna clapped her hands enthusiastically.

“Why do you encourage this?” Jax asked their sister-in-law.

“I think they’re cute.” She grinned proudly as the pair finally broke the kiss. “I didn’t think Juice would have the stones to do that in front of John.”

“In the spirit of Christmas, I’ll blame it on the mistletoe.” Stiles dad mumbled with a pained expression on his face.

“Um, was that up there earlier?” Juice questioned, pointing toward the mistletoe they stood beneath.

“I put it up while you two were on the roof.” Gemma confessed with a smirk. “I knew you’d wind up there on your way back in. It’s my Christmas gift to Stiles.”

“Thank you.” That might just be the best gift she’d ever given him.

“Dinner’s ready.” Piney announced as he carved into the turkey. “Sit down you two.”

The table was almost filled to maximum capacity. Gemma and Clay were seated at the heads of the table, while everyone else was scattered between them. There were two spots left open, one next to Chibs, which Juice took, and one beside Stiles dad. Normally, Stiles would slip into the seat between his father and brother, but he had a few things to take care of during this meal, and he needed to be next to a certain Winchester to do them.

“Move, Peter.” He kicked the leg of the alpha’s chair. “Go sit next to my dad. Try anything and he’ll shoot you.”

“Why do I have to switch seats?” Peter complained even as he got up and moved to the opposite side of the table.

“I’ve got something to say and it’ll much easier if I’m making good on a threat I made earlier while I say it.” Stiles dropped into the now free chair and skimmed his fingers over the silverware laid out beside his plate. “I need to sit next to Sam for that.”

“W-Why do you need to sit next to me?” Sam asked tentatively, going as far as to try to scoot his chair as far as the person on his other side would allow.

“Don’t worry about it.” Stiles picked a steak knife up off the table and quickly tucked his hand beneath the table, hiding the weapon from sight, but keeping the pointy end parallel with Sam’s leg. “Hey, Gem?”

“What?” The matriarch glanced up at him as she passed a bowl of salad to her eldest son.

“I lo-lo-lo— damn it. I loathe— nope, that’s not the right word. I lo-lov—shit.” He struggled to force out those three words that were beginning to feel like acid on his tongue. “Um….”

“Are you seriously trying to do what I think you’re trying to do, _right now_?” Juice spluttered in disbelief.

“Give me a fucking second. I can do it.” It was not as easy as he thought it would be. He would just have to go about it a little differently, being straightforward with the words was just not going to work.

“Take your time.” Juice snickered and took a sip of his beer.

“Gemma, I don’t hate you—I mean, I do kinda hate you, but I also, uh, kinda the opposite of hate you.” He admitted in the same moment as he jammed the knife in the meat of Sam’s thigh. “If you catch my drift.”

“Ow! Motherfucker.” Sam cried out in pain, grasping his injury.

“Love you too, baby.” Gemma cocked her head to the side curiously. “Is this a Christmas miracle or did your fever spike?”

“I got five bucks on the fever.” Chibs waved a bill in the air.

“I’ll take that action.” Dean put his own money on the table. “Put me down for ten on a Christmas miracle.”

“I don’t know, man, I think it’s his ‘thank you’ for Gemma giving him a reason to mack on Juice under the mistletoe.” Tiggy threw his own theory into the pot.

“Sorry, boys, none of the above. It was for a good cause though, I promise.” Stiles shifted his gaze to Juice and fluttered his lashes. “You’re up, sunshine. I did my part.”

“That doesn’t fucking count.” Juice protested around a mouthful of food. “You had to actually say the words.”

“Oh, yes, it does count. She understood that’s what I was trying to say.” And let’s be real, that was the closest he would ever get to uttering those three little words to Gemma of all people. “This was your idea. I held up my end, now it’s your turn.”

“Damn it.” Juice tossed his napkin onto the table. “I know better than to make deals with you.”

“And yet you still do it.” Their deal was more of a dare, and Stiles never backed down from a dare. “New York is a few hours ahead, you might want to call your mama before it gets too late.”

“I hate you.” Juice muttered, standing from his chair.

“That’s not the impression I got when you kissed me.” Stiles beamed, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Do not start the weird flirting thing.” Jax pleaded. “Just go make your call, Juice.”

“Sam, you need help stitching yourself up? I can do it.” Dean offered as Sam pushed his chair away from the table.

“I can take care of myself.” The younger Winchester declared angrily.

“There’s a fully stocked first aid kit in the bathroom.” Gemma used her fork to gesture toward the hall. “Put that knife in the dishwasher when you’re done.”

“What did we say about stabbing people at the dinner table, Stiles?” His dad asked, an aura of disapproval surrounding him.

“Not to.” Although, in Stiles opinion, there would always be an exception to that rule. “Do I have to apologize to Sam? I’m sure he deserved to be stabbed for reasons that go beyond being a Grinch.”

“Don’t stab my brother again.” Dean cautioned, the warning clear in his voice. “I mean it.”

“I’ll try not to.” He wasn’t making any promises. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

“You guys actually have a rule about not stabbing people?” Derek asked, his face twisted in confusion. “That’s not just…I don’t know a common courtesy? You actually had to make it a rule. Does that kind of thing happen a lot here?”

“At a 4th of July barbecue one year, Tig stabbed Kozik for running over his dog.” Chibs revealed, proving that, yes, they did need to make it a rule. “When Jackie boy was in high school, he slashed the arm of a club member from a visiting charter for flirting with his girlfriend.”

“Opie stabbed my father with a cake knife.” Donna contributed her own story. “At our wedding reception.”

“Hey, your hand was on that knife too. We were cutting the cake and he got in the way. It was more of a slice than a stab.” Opie explained the circumstances surrounding the incident. “And that rule was only made after Stiles shoved a knife into Clay’s chest half a dozen times.”

“You did?” Derek eyes darted between Stiles and the club Pres. “Really?”

“Thanksgiving 2007.” Stiles remembered that day fondly. “It was a dull knife, didn’t do as much damage as eleven-year old me would have liked. It’s not like he died or anything.”

“Why are you even here?” Clay scowled at him, unconsciously rubbing the spot on his chest where the scars from those wounds lay. “I thought we banned you and your father from holiday dinners after you tried to kill me. Why are either of you here?”

“You banned us, but your wife’s vote outranks yours. She invited us.” His dad interjected, taking Clay’s attention off him. “I guess she likes us better than she likes you. Couldn’t imagine why.”

“No fighting.” Gemma smacked a palm down on the table. “Not when we have proper guests. I’m sure Bobby, Derek, and Peter, don’t want to listen to it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Peter smiled cordially. “Holiday meals aren’t meant to be civil. They never were in our house. We tried a little harder on Christmas, because it’s Derek’s birthday too. Of course, his sisters were always upset when he got more presents than them.”

“Peter, stop.” Derek advised his uncle in a tone that left no room for argument.

“We’ve got your birthday cake in the fridge, darlin. I didn’t know what you liked, so I made chocolate.” Gemma informed the birthday boy. “We’ll do the candles after dinner.”

“How did you know it was my birthday?” Derek’s body stiffened, as if having that information made Gemma a threat.

“I swiped your wallet the first time you came to Charming.” Gemma winked at the wolf and tried to put him at ease. “I gave it back before you’d even noticed.”

“First lesson about Gem,” Stiles leaned around Bobby to speak to Derek more directly. “She has boundary issues.”

“I guess that’s where you get it from.” Derek remarked wryly.

“In time you’ll learn not to say things like that to me.” Stiles fingers twitched around his fork. “I’ll give you a pass, ‘cause it’s your birthday.”

“I get the feeling you’ve spent a lot of time in therapy as a child to work out your homicidal urges.” Peter mentioned, eyes roaming over Stiles like he was an item on the dessert menu. “I believe you and I are going to get along nicely.”

“Yay?” He wasn’t entirely sure if having the murderous alpha on his side was a good thing or not.

“He doesn’t need therapy. Every couple of years we let him stab someone to work all that aggression out.” Jax said, sounding completely serious. “One year it was Clay, this year it’s Sam. To be honest, I thought it’d be Dean this year.”

“Don’t put ideas in his head when there are still potential murder weapons in his line of sight.” Dean chided, superstitiously checking the table for knives left unattended.

Stiles only rolled his eyes at the teasing while conversation lolled. He absently picked at his food, his appetite had been almost non-existent since he’d been ill, and nothing looked very appealing. He was ready to excuse himself, to curl back up on the couch or retreat to the apartment for a well-needed nap, when the clubhouse door opening stopped him.

“Hey,” He greeted Juice as he shuffled back inside. “How’d it go?”

“Fine. It was fine.” Juice shrugged, his face shadowed by a dark cloud of guilt.

“You didn’t do it, did you?” He questioned non-judgmentally as the Son rejoined them at the table. “Did you at least try?”

“Yeah, I tried.” Juice nodded, slumping down in his chair. “I sent her a text wishing her a Merry Christmas.”

“Well, that’s something.” A text was still more personal than the gifts. It was a step in the right direction. “Maybe next year you’ll be ready to call her.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

* * *

 

Jax couldn’t remember a time when he felt as nervous as he did now, wandering down the long hall to the NICU. If he was the type to hold hands, he might grip Dean’s tightly or even grab his mother’s like a scared child. He didn’t give in to that need for comfort, he wouldn’t show that kind of weakness, not today. He was fortunate enough to have someone who would not allow him to feign strength for long.

“Jax,” His little brother tugged on his shirtsleeve. “Come talk to me for a minute.”

“Okay.” He could use the pep talk that was surely waiting for him. “The rest of you go on ahead, we’ll be right there.”

Jax followed his brother to the waiting room, which was thankfully deserted at the late hour. Stiles didn’t sit or tell Jax to, only placed both hands on Jax’s shoulders and gave him a good shake.

“You’re freaked out and it’s freaking me out.” Stiles confessed, his fingers flexing agitatedly on Jax’s shoulders. “Babies can sense stuff like that. It’s gonna upset Abel. You don’t want that, right?”

“Right.” The last thing he wanted was to make his son anxious upon their first real meeting. “You got anything to calm me down?”

“What, like a xanax? No.”

“I was thinking more words of wisdom.” The kid always had a few of those in the bank for when Jax needed them.

“Okay, uh, um…” Stiles stammered as he tried to come up with something worthwhile to say. “Oh, okay, got it. Up until now, Abel’s been like an idea to you. A really terrifying idea. You could see him in the incubator, but there was always a chance he wouldn’t make it out, and that sort of kept you in limbo. Today, holding him in your arms, that makes it real. You’re a father, Jackson.”

“I know.”

“You’re a father. You have a son. He’s soft and breakable and he’s yours.” His brother exclaimed like it was the most extraordinary thing in the entire world. “You get to raise him, to guide him through life. You are going to help determine who he’ll be, what kind of man he turns into. And that, that scares the hell of you.”

“Damn right it does.” Having it laid out like that wasn’t doing anything to quell his fears.

“I don’t know if that fear will ever go away or if it’s just something you’d learn to live with being a parent.” Stiles lips quirked up in a reassuring smile. “You’re gonna love Abel more than anyone and anything in the world. And he has to come first. You have to think of him before you make a decision. He has to be factor, a priority. You want to make sure he grows up to be a good man, then you have to think about how your actions will affect him.”

“Somehow, this went from you trying to soothe my anxiety to what seems to one of your anti-SAMCRO speeches.” Jax was all game for the former, but would rather be hit in the nuts with a sledgehammer than listen to the later. “Let’s go back to you comforting me.”

“I believe you have the potential to be a fantastic father, but you gotta believe it to.” Stiles dropped his hands from Jax’s shoulders and shoved them in his pockets. “I’ll be there to help whenever you need me, probably more than you’d like in fact. I won’t let you fail. I won’t let you do anything that’s not in that baby’s best interest.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Let’s go see your kid, huh?”

With a new confidence, Jax strolled to the NICU with his brother by his side. The others were waiting patiently outside the door, but only Gemma and Dean took the plunge with him. Stiles and John could only offer encouraging smiles as the door was closed behind them.

Jax’s nerves weren’t entirely settled, he could not resist the urge to pace the length of the small area once inside the room. Unlike his brother, Gemma and Dean did not try to ground him, only smirked with amusement and allowed him to wear a hole in the carpet until the nurse came in. It was only when he saw the bundle in her arms that he felt a new calm wash over him.

Despite his new tranquility, his hands still shook as he took the infant into his arms, you’d almost think it was the first time he’d ever held a baby.

“He’s beautiful, Jackson.” Gemma smoothed a hand through Abel’s hair. “Just like you when you were a baby.”

“Yeah, he is.” All parents probably though their kid was the cutest or smartest, better than all the others, but Jax knew, in his heart, that there was something overwhelming special about his son.

“Maybe we should give you some time with him.” Dean suggested, caressing Abel’s cheek with his index finger. “We’ll hold him in a little while.”

“Yeah, we’ll give you a few minutes, baby.” Gemma agreed, linking her arm with Dean’s to usher him out.

“Thanks, guys.” Jax hadn’t expected the courtesy, especially from Gem, but he was grateful for it.

“Hey Jax,” Dean lingered in the doorway for a moment. “I’m gonna protect him for as long as I can. I won’t…I won’t let anything happen to him. I’ll look after him like he’s my own.”

“I know you will.” Jax hoped that maybe one day Dean would love Abel like his own as well.

“I’m holding that baby before we leave this hospital tonight, so call for us when it’s our turn.”

"I will."

Once he was finally alone with his son, Jax took a moment to take in his features and think about what Stiles had said in the waiting room. Abel was so small and fragile, easily breakable. He was Jax’s kid, a part of him in a way no one else was, and he was Jax’s responsibility. It was on Jax to raise this innocent little boy who never asked to be brought up by someone so inexperienced and out of his element.

“I hate to break this to you, kid, but I’m your old man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: [Where the hell's your other hand?](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/143680874173/charming-wayward-sons-verse-where-the-hells)


	8. Hell Followed the Code Breaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Non-consensual touching, mentions of past rape/non-con.  
> Gif Sets: [Your Other Hand](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/143680874173/charming-wayward-sons-verse-where-the-hells), [Manipulative](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/156428398684/charming-wayward-sons-verse-manipulative-rising), [Worst Criminal](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/155231065834/charming-wayward-sons-verse-worst-criminal), [A New Date](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/154893000653/charming-wayward-sons-verse-a-new-date-did-you). [BONUS: [Stiles & Jax Posters](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/156383337364/charming-wayward-sons-verse-character-posters-2)]  
> Episodes: [SOA] 1x09 Hell Followed, [TW] 1x11 Formality & 1x12 Code Breaker

Jax was naïve enough to believe he could have one calm night void of any crisis involving the club or the supernatural. Dean could see the visible disappointment on his face when he’d received a call from Clay, ordering him back to TM almost as soon as they had left the hospital. It kind of put a wrench in their evening plans, of course, so did the kid conked out in the Impala’s backseat, so he figured the change in plans didn’t matter much.

“The Winchester Taxi is officially out of service for the night.” Dean declared as they climbed out of the car. “Unless you want me to take Stiles up to his dad’s place.”

“No, it’s too late to drive all the way to Beacon Hills tonight.” Jax glanced through the car window to his brother’s sleeping form curled up on the seat. “He can crash in the apartment, that way you and I can have the house to ourselves tonight.”

“That sounds nice.” That was assuming the club problem was wrapped up quickly. “You go take care of business. I’ll dump the kid in the apartment and wait at the bar like a good old lady.”

“I like you better as a bad man, but I’ll take what I can get.” Jax said coyly. “I gotta get inside. I’ll see you in a little while.”

“Yep.”

Dean yanked open the car door and debated on how exactly he was going to get the sleeping teenager from point A to point B. In theory, he could throw the kid over his shoulder and carry him in, but there was always the danger that he would wake up and lash out violently in a panic, which would end badly for both of them. He would have to bring the kid out of his slumber if he wanted to transport him _and_ avoid bodily injury.

“Stiles,” He patted his hand gently against the teenagers cheek to rouse him. “Wakey, wakey, kiddo. I know you took a large dose of Nyquil, but I’m gonna need some help getting you inside. Come on.”

“Hmm….” Stiles bleary eyes flickered open. “Dean?”

“Yep. Come on.” He reached out to tug on the kid’s arm. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He urged Stiles out of the car, catching him as he stumbled unsteadily on his feet. The kid was barely in the realm of consciousness, blinking owlishly as he tried to regain his bearings.

“All right, here we go.” Dean swung Stiles arm over his shoulders to assist in half-carrying/dragging him toward the clubhouse. “You’re gonna have to help me a little bit here.”

He ushered the kid into the clubhouse and through the main room to the empty apartment. He pulled the covers back on the bed and unceremoniously dumped Stiles into it. The kid didn’t protest the treatment until Dean tried to removed his shoes to make him more comfortable.

“Can do it myself.” The teenager grumbled, kicking Dean’s hands away and toeing the shoes off himself. “Can take care of myself. I’m not Sam.”

“Yeah, I know.” The differences between Dean’s little brother and Jax’s were hard to miss. “For the record, Sam is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”

“Nope.” Stiles moved his head back and forth slowly. “He can’t. He’s a child. A scared little boy who thinks he’s tough.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong.” Dean could admit the assessment held merit. “But that sounds an awful lot like someone else I know.”

“Jax does fit the bill too, I wasn’t gonna mention it.” The kid joked halfheartedly. “Maybe we all do a little bit.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Stiles frowned sadly. “I’m sorry if you were pissed that I stabbed your brother.”

“ _Pissed_ does not even begin to describe how I feel when someone hurts my brother.” _Pissed_ was tame compared to the range of emotions he felt when someone laid hands on his brother.

“He was being selfish. He wouldn’t give you the last Christmas you wanted, the one you deserved. He made it all about him.” Stiles remarked, a hint of his earlier anger still prominent in his tone. “He should have stowed his shit for you. You wanted the day to be perfect, and Sam should have wanted that for you. _I_ wanted that for you. W-We haven’t found a way to get you out of the deal, but this one last perfect Christmas, that we could give you, and Sam just wouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Getting me out of that deal is not your responsibility.” He hated that the kid felt like it fell on him to come up with a miracle solution, but he supposed it was his own fault for telling him about the deal to begin with. “And I’m perfectly happy with how Christmas has been. Despite you stabbing Sam, it was still a great night. Dinner was nice, and holding Abel was…that was amazing. It was the best Christmas I’ve had in a very long time. It was perfect for my last Christmas, even if you were being kind of a dick to me, holding a grudge and all.”

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, okay?” Stiles voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s easy to be mean to you, to hold grudges, because you can’t do anything to me without hurting Jax or pissing him off. I don’t have that kind of protection with anyone else.”

“You take advantage of my feelings for your brother?” That was a little fucked up. “And here I always try to be nice to you, not just for Jax’s sake, but ‘cause you’re kind of a cool kid.”

“Can’t be nice all the time.” Stiles said regretfully. “I can’t.”

“You used to be, when you were little.” They used to be close when the kid was actually a kid. Stiles used to have a hug waiting for him when he came to town, and Dean would read him bedtime stories when Jax worked late. “Something changed, I just don’t know when.”

“When I realized the damage people could do to each other. I found out what you were capable of doing to Jax. I knew you would hurt him worse than Wendy or Tara ever could.” The teenager’s lip set in a grim line. “I have to protect Jax from the things he can’t protect himself from. That’s you. I can’t do my job and be your friend.”

“I get where you’re coming from,” If anyone could understand the protective bond between brothers, it was Dean. “But I can promise you that I won’t do anything to hurt Jax.”

“You don’t think your death is going to destroy him? You guys have been doing this dance since before I was born. It’s always been serious, even when it wasn’t.” Stiles murmured thoughtfully. “You made that deal to save your brother, Jax will understand that, but that won’t make the pain he feels when you’re gone hurt any less. I can’t protect him from that, I can only pick up the pieces left behind.”

“I’m sorry.” He hated to think of what his death might do to Jax. “I’m trying to make it easier on him.”

“He knows something is off with you. He can sense it.” Stiles acknowledged sullenly. “You try to make things easier by putting as much distance between the two of you as you can without making him suspicious. The problem is, he knows something is wrong. You try to pull away and he’s holding on with both hands to keep you close. He takes every opportunity to tell you that you have a home here with him.”

“I can’t change what’s happening, not the deal or how Jax will react to it, and neither can you.” It was all out of their hands. “You know, you said you couldn’t be my friend when you have to protect him from me, but you also said you can’t protect him from this. So, I don’t see why you and I can’t be friends. It will make things easier for Jax if you and I get along.”

“Are you trying to use my brother’s emotional wellbeing to manipulate me into being your friend?” Stiles questioned, his face the picture of scandalized. “That’s a dirty play, but a smart one. I accept your offer of friendship. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“I’m gonna need one more thing from you.” Dean was most definitely pushing his luck, but it wasn’t like he had anything to lose. “Apologize to Sam for stabbing him. You don’t have to mean it, just say the words believably. You know, make things right with him. I don’t want you two at each other’s throat for what’s left of my life.”

“Fine. I’ll make nice with your brother.” The kid grudgingly agreed. “Can I go back to sleep _now_?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Dean grabbed the blanket to pull it over the kid, covering him up the best he could. “Night, kiddo.”

“Night.”

Dean flicked off the light and closed the apartment door as he left the room. He followed the sounds of voices chattering down the hall to the main room and immediately figured out what the club crisis was. The guy being carried in on a stretcher was a dead giveaway.

“I guess that stolen ambulance came in handy.” He mentioned offhandedly as he watched Tig and Chibs carry the injured stranger into the chapel. “Everyone okay?”

“Everyone except him and the men who pulled the triggers.” Jax said as he came to stand beside him. “They were after Clay.”

“They were after the club.” Dean knew how this crap worked, a hit against a member was a hit against the entire crew. “You guys taking precautions? Battening down the hatches and all that?”

“We’re not going into lockdown. It’s not as serious as it looks.” Jax waved off his concern. “Chibs will fix this guy up and it’ll be all good.”

“You’re cute when you’re spewing false optimism.” Dean didn’t really buy the whole ‘it’s all good’ crap Jax tried to spin. “Guess we’re crashing here tonight. We can boot little brother to the couch and take the bed for ourselves.”

“Oh, we can do better than that.” Jax smirked. “Let’s go back to my place for a couple hours. We can get some shuteye or get something else.”

“You sure the club can do without you for a little while?” Dean had his doubts about Clay or anyone else in SAMCRO letting Jax leave their sight after a shooting.

“We may have to quietly sneak out the back. You game?”

“Hell yeah.”

* * *

 

Derek would never admit that he actually had a good time at Christmas dinner. Sure, some of the guests were loud and obnoxious, and there was some minor violence, but all-in-all it wasn't bad. Even the cake and off-key singing of ‘happy birthday’ directed at him sparked an old warmth inside of him. As enjoyable as it all was, he couldn’t help but feel a little claustrophobic and suffocated by it all.

He thought returning to the loft would help him calm down. The problem was, the loft was not as empty as he would prefer. It was quite cramped with his father, uncle, and Sam camping out like it was some cheap motel. Derek couldn’t very well kick them out just because he wanted some alone time. If wanted his space, he would have to go somewhere else to do it, so he went home.

The burnt husk was where he had continued to seek refuge since his return to Beacon Hills. His father probably thought he was punishing himself by returning to the place where his family died, but that wasn’t true. Yes, he felt an insurmountable amount of guilt standing in the remnants of his former home, but it was also where he felt the most at peace.

Despite his father’s profession, Derek was never one to believe in ghosts, spirits, or death echoes, but he couldn’t deny that he could sense the presence of his lost loved ones every time he stepped into the house. If he looked hard enough, he could still see his mother sitting in her favorite chair by the fireplace. If he listened closely, he could hear his aunt Gwen playing her favorite song on the piano, or the delighted cackles of children’s laughter floating through the hallways, just as it had when he was a boy.

However, there was currently a presence he couldn’t account for. It was new, something foreign, and unwelcome. It was someone who had no right to be in his home, who had never been there before, yet Derek could recognize his scent.

“Jackson Whittemore.” Derek threw the front door open to see the teenager standing on his front porch. “What are you doing here?”

“This house….” Jackson took the open door as an invitation to enter, pushing his way inside. “It’s the same house.”

“What’d you say?”

“I’ve dreamt about this place. I remember the staircase.” Jackson skimmed a hand over the banister. “I remember the-these walls. I remember everything.”

“You’ve been here?” Derek was certain the kid hadn’t been a childhood friend of Cora’s. There was no reason for him to have been in the house before the fire, he must have come afterward to see the wreckage.

“No, never.” Jackson shook his head. “I dreamt it.”

“Is that why you’re here now?” Derek scowled at the kid. “You think you have a claim to my home since you dreamt about it?”

“N-No.” The teenager stuttered, taking several steps back. “I, um—Is anyone else here?”

“No.” He stalked toward the younger man. “And no one else is coming.”

“I’m leaving.” Jackson declared, eyes darting every which way in a panic.

“No, you’re not.” Derek thrust an arm out in front of him, preventing him from going anywhere. “Not until you get what you came here for.”

“I-I didn’t come here for anything.”

“Oh, yes, you did.” There had to be a reason for him to have shown up at Derek’s home so late in the night. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Wrong answer.” Derek dropped his fangs and allowed his eyes to glow an icy blue.

“No, no, please, don’t, okay?” Jackson stumbled back against the staircase. “I’ll shut up. I’ll never say another word again. I’ll leave Scott alone. Please, you can’t do this! Please! I-I don’t deserve it!”

“I think you do.” From his reaction, Derek determined the kid knew a little more about what Derek and Scott were than he originally let on.

“No!”

“Look around you!” Derek shouted, spreading his arms wide in gesture of the empty foyer. “Wouldn’t there be someone here trying to save you? There’s no one here and there’s a reason. No one cares that you drive an expensive car. No one cares that you have perfect hair, and no one cares that you’re captain of the lacrosse team!”

His outburst stunned the teenager into silence. The quiet that had settled over the room brought Derek’s attention to the sounds coming from outside the house, in particular, the familiar whistle that could only mean one thing.

“Get down!” He yelled in warning. “Cover your eyes!”

A windowpane shattered as one of the Argent’s signature flash/bang arrows came whizzing into the house, temporarily blinding everyone inside. The next moments were a haze of gunfire and the electric whir of the stun guns that hunters were so fond of. Derek couldn’t be sure if it was a bullet or a shocking burst of electricity that dropped him to the ground, but he knew Kate’s face was the last one he saw before he lost consciousness.

* * *

 

Stiles stumbled blearily through the clubhouse at what he assumed was an early hour, given the golden rays of sunlight peeking through the blinds on the windows. He was surprised to find people milling about before noon. Tig was at the bar, nursing his first beer of the morning, while Clay sat beside him, sipping from a coffee mug. Gemma was wearing a hole in the floor, pacing the length of the room anxiously, and Chibs was sitting at the table looking like he’d been dragged down ten miles of bad road. It was obvious something pretty serious had gone down while Stiles slept.

“Go back to bed or go away.” Clay ordered impatiently, as if Stiles mere presence was enough to piss him off. “You don’t need to be here.”

“Fuck off or die.” Stiles shot back easily. “Please choose option B, it would be a dream come true for me.”

An amused snort behind him had Stiles turning a suspicious glance toward the chapel. One of the doors was ajar, so Stiles ignored the sounds of protest from the others in the room and pulled the door the rest of the way open to find out who was inside and why. He wanted to be surprised or at the very least perturbed by what he found, but honestly, it rated pretty low on the SAMCRO ‘weird shit’ meter.

Juice was standing over an unconscious man who was splayed out, stomach down, on the chapel table. The strange guy’s face was drooped in a pool of his own drool, and there was blood seeping from at least two different wounds on the lower half of his body. The startling part of the scene, however, was the way one of Juice’s hands disappeared at the man’s rear-end.

“Morning,” Juice offered him a lopsided grin.

“Morning.” Stiles echoed but refused to allow the Son’s pretty smile to distract him from what was wrong with this picture. “Who’s your new friend?”

“No one you need to worry about.” Gemma said firmly, a warning lit to her voice. “Your Jeep is fixed, you should go home.”

“Nope.” His interest was piqued now that he knew they didn’t want him there. “I’m guessing there is a good reason this dude isn’t at a hospital, something involving active warrants probably. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t just leave him to die where he was shot, instead of torturing the him with dodgy first aid until he inevitably dies a slow and painful death. Unless, you’re trying to extract some kind of information from him.”

“He’s a friend of the club.” Clay grudgingly admitted. “He took those bullets for me last night. He saved my life.”

“Juice, stop whatever you’re doing and let the bastard die.” Saving Clay’s life was a capital offense in Stiles book.

“Chibs is fixing him up.” Gemma leveled that particular Son with an expectant look that said ‘ _you better fucking save him or else_.’ “He’ll be fine.”

“Chibs is fixing him up?” From what Stiles could see Chibs wasn’t doing much besides sitting on his ass. “You doing that telepathically?”

“This shit is way out of my wheelhouse.” Chibs scrubbed a hand down his tired face. “We got one slug out, but there still one in the guy’s ass. He’s got an infection that’s spreading. He may have sepsis.”

“Just do the best you can, all right?” Clay urged the Scot, not at all put off by the severity of the man’s injuries.

“Aye.”

“Can one of you get me something to drink?” Juice requested, licking his dry lips. “I can’t really…move.”

“I will.” Stiles was in need of his morning caffeine fix anyway. “Coffee?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?” Clay grabbed him by the wrist as he tried to pass by.

“Didn’t I tell you to die?” He jerked his arm from the older man’s grip. “I guess neither of us are getting what we want, unless – fingers crossed – the guy who shot your friend comes back for seconds.”

“Stiles!” Gemma growled, her face tight with anger. “Go get the damn coffee and be quiet.”

“Yes, Mommy Dearest.” He ceded to the matriarch, not feeling up to challenging her.

Rather than snarking back and forth with Gem or Clay, he took the high road, for maybe the first time ever, and did as he was told. He ambled into the kitchen, fixed two cups of coffee, and made his way back to the chapel without uttering another word to the King and Queen.

“Here you go,” Stiles held out a mug to Juice.

“Thanks.” Juice cautiously moved his free hand away from his patient to take the proffered cup.

“Unser at the back door.” Tig announced, gaze fixed on the security monitor above the bar.

“Keep him quiet.” Clay ordered, gesturing to the injured man on the chapel table.

“Got it.” Tig jogged over and shit the double-doors, cutting Stiles and Juice off from the others.

“So, now that we’re alone,” Stiles started as he set his coffee mug on top of the gun safe in the corner. “You wanna tell me who this guy is?”

“His name is Cameron, but that’s all you get.” Juice revealed as the man in question started to come around, groaning and fidgeting on the table. The Son leaned over to put himself eye level with his patient. “Hey. How you feeling?”

“What the hell’s going on?” Cameron lethargically lifted his head off the table.

“There were some, uh, complications?” Juice’s reassuring smile conflicted with the uncertainty of his tone.

“Where’s the Scotsman?” Cameron questioned, obviously not comforted by his current nurse’s bedside manner.

“Oh, he’s gonna be right back.” Juice nodded his head animatedly.

“Uh,” Cameron’s brows knitted together in a frown as he gave Juice a quick once-over and seemed to catch onto the fact that Juice was kind of missing an appendage. “Where the hell’s your other hand?”

“Well, my finger is, uh…” Juice set his mug down as he struggled to find a delicate way to break the news to the guy. “Plugging up one of your bullet holes.”

“You got your finger jammed up my ass?” Cameron’s eyes grew comically wide as he found a new alertness.

“No!” Juice shook his head back and forth vigorously. “No.”

“Yes.” Stiles chimed in, not seeing a good reason to lie to the poor bastard. “Yes, he does.”

“Well, technically, yes, okay.” Juice confessed with a weary sigh. “But my fingers not jammed _up_ your ass. It’s kind of jammed _in_ your ass.”

“’Cause that sounds so much better.” Stiles chuckled at Juice’s ramblings.

“Jesus.” Cameron dropped his forehead back to the table. “Am I gonna die or not?”

“No.” Juice concluded with complete certainty before thinking better of it. “I don’t think so.”

“I think so.” Stiles figured honesty was the best policy, given the dude’s condition. “Without proper medical attention, you’ll be dead within a few hours from the infection or more likely blood loss.”

“Oh!” Cameron grunted in pain as the chapel doors swung open and Chibs stepped into the room. “Oh, Scotsman! I need you guys to do me a favor. Brenan Hefner, port commissioner, he’s gotta be dealt with.”

“There’s plenty of time for that.” Chibs reasoned as he opened a bottle of whiskey he’d brought in with him.

“No.” Cameron snapped. “It’s gotta happen before Monday. He’s gonna sic port dogs on our shipment. You gotta take him out. You promise me that.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I promise you. It’ll get done. I swear.” Chibs vowed and brought the bottle to Cameron’s lips so he could take a long sip. “Have a drown. There you go.”

“Take him out?” Juice leaned into Chibs space to speak in a hushed tone. “That means like kill him?”

“No. I think what it means is dinner and a movie.” Chibs deadpanned, giving Juice a look that suggested he was a special brand of idiot.

“Oh my god.” Stiles cackled, earning perplexed glances from the Sons. “I’m sorry, it’s just…’ _that means like kill him?_ ’ Oh, honey, that’s the most innocent thing I’ve ever heard in this clubhouse.”

“Did you just call me _honey_?” Juice quirked a brow in surprise.

“I think I did. _Honey_ …” He rolled the word over on his tongue once more and decided he didn’t like how it tasted. “That didn’t sound right. I’m not saying that again.”

“You’re not gonna repeat anything you heard or will hear in this room either, will ya?” Chibs posed it as a question, but it came off more as a command with a threat of violence buried beneath it if he refused to obey.

“What am I, new?” This was his first day dealing with club mishaps. “Despite popular belief, I am fully capable of keeping my mouth shut.”

“And you,” Chibs gripped the nape of Cameron’s neck tightly. “You are going to forget ever seeing this kid. He’s a civilian.”

“Aye. I will.” The patient agreed as he tried uselessly to shake off the Scot’s hold. “You’re gonna fix me up now, yeah?”

“Your faith in Chibs medical skills is astounding. The man was an army medic for a couple months, that is the extent of his training.” Stiles wasn’t sure of Cameron was being optimistic of Chibs abilities or if he was just stupid. “You want to survive, you need a real doctor or nurse or something.”

“Well, unless you have one in your rolodex. I’m the best we’ve got.” Chibs grumbled irritably.

“I don’t.” The only medical professional he knew was Ms. McCall, and somehow he did not think she would be on board for some backroom surgery for a criminal. “But Juice does.”

“He does?”

“I do?” The younger Son scrunched up his face in confusion.

“Your sister Marisol.” Stiles had a vague recollection of Juice mentioning his eldest sister was a doctor. “You can call her and give her a hypothetical version of our current predicament. She can give you a list of things we’ll need, along with step-by-step instructions on how to help your hypothetical patient survive.”

“My sister is a neurosurgeon, not a…bullet in the ass doctor.” Juice clarified his sister’s specialty, before shutting down the idea completely. “I’m not getting her involved in this, hypothetically or not.”

“Okay. I respect that.” Stiles couldn’t blame him for wanting his family to safely out of all the club bullshit. “We can download a couple medical textbook, make some educated guesses, and hope for the best. It’s just gonna take forever.”

“It’s a necessary evil if it saves this guys life. So, Stiles, you go get on the computer and figure out how we’re doing this. Call Jax when you have a list of supplies we’ll need, he and Dean can pick ‘em up.” Chibs began delegating duties. “Juice, you...keep your fingers in his ass. I’ll try to keep him alive.”

* * *

 

Peter had made a few mistakes in his life, he would willingly admit to them. Running away from home when he was nine rated in the top five on the stupid scale. He never made it out of the preserve, but his father still took a belt to his ass and forced him to sleep in the tunnels for two weeks. The punishment was excessive, but that was dear old dad. Another mistake was not killing that bastard himself, that honor went to Talia, after she’d found Peter locked in those tunnels.

His tryst with the Desert Wolf was a mistake he couldn’t bring himself to really regret. The woman was volatile and took a lot of pleasure in trying to kill him. They’d fucked as roughly as they fought. It fantastic up until Corrine had nearly succeeded in ripping out his throat. It had taken days to heal and forced his alpha to use her considerable power to put her foot down on that sorry excuse for a relationship, stating a coyote could not and would never become a part of a distinguished pack such as theirs. Honestly, that may have been more of a poorly thought out latent rebellion than it was a mistake.

The biggest mistake of his entire life was not keeping a better eye on Derek when he was a teenager. Back then, his wife Gwen used to joke about how overprotective and involved he was with the children, not just their own, but Talia’s as well. However, if that were true, he would have known the moment Kate had shown interest in Derek, and he would have put a bloody end to it long before she could even plan the fire. Failing to protect Derek would always be his gravest mistake.

The blunder that continued to move up on his list of questionable decisions was the one and only Scott McCall. Peter would plead temporary insanity on that front, he could not be held accountable for biting such a self-involved little idiot. Alas, in the end his mental state did not matter, the teenager was still his beta and therefore his responsibility.

Considering their recent, increasingly violent encounters, Peter highly doubted Scott would be willing to sit down, call a truce, and discuss teaming up to bring down the Argents together. No, Scott had proven time and time again that he would choose the Argents, Allison in particular, over even his closest friends. It did not mean all hope was lost, because there was always one person who could pull a teenage boy’s attention from a pretty girl: his mother. Peter was counting on that.

Confronting Melissa McCall at her home was a bad idea, it would probably come off like a threat or a power play. The safer option would be to _casually_ run into her at the hospital while she was on break. Peter was never one to take the path of least resistance, which is why he found himself on the McCall house front porch, bright and early in the morning.

“Hello, Ms. McCall,” He flashed the same sweet and innocent grin he would give his older sister when he’d snuck in late on a school night. “I’m Peter Hale. I’m the one who bit your son.”

“You—“ The woman went stock-still as she digested the information. “You need to leave.”

“I came here to apologize.” That wasn’t even a lie, no one was sorrier about Scott being bitten than he was. “I had no intention of biting your son. It was the full moon and my mental state was incapacitated. I am very sorry for causing trouble to your family.”

“Causing trouble?” Melissa scoffed at his lighthearted take on the situation. “You turned my son into monst—into a fairytale character.”

“I cured him. He’s stronger than he’s ever been.” The bite was a wonderful gift, not a cruel curse. “His asthma is gone. He will never suffer another broken bone or illness. He can heal himself, because of the gift I gave him. You should be thankful for that. You can rest easy and never worry about him being hurt again.”

“Now I have to worry about him losing control and killing someone during the full moon.” Ah, there it was, fear. Her fear gave him a way in, opened the door that would lead him to exactly what he wanted.

“I can help with that. I taught my nephew Derek and niece Cora control.” The task had fallen to him when Talia and her husband proved far too busy to be bothered with training simple betas. “I can teach Scott as well. It’s one of my jobs, in fact. After all, I am his alpha.”

“I don’t want you teaching my son anything.” Melissa snarled, her protective mama bear instincts on high alert. “I want you to stay the hell away from him.”

“The lone wolf dies, the pack survives.” He recited the old saying he’d heard so many times during his childhood. “The ones that don’t die go insane, like I did. Six years without a pack and I went so mad that I killed my own niece. I never would have harmed her if I had been in my right mind. She was the first baby I ever held, you know, she even took her first steps toward me. My little Laura. She took her first steps to me…and her last.”

“I don’t care.” The slight tremor in her voice belied her words.

“I’m not without a pack anymore. I have my nephew. Derek’s father and the Stilinski boy are edging their way in, their connection to Derek pulls them closer to me. They may not be wolves, but they will still be pack.” Stiles and Bobby’s stubbornness would prevent them from accepting their places, but their loyalty would cement it either way. “My wolf settles the longer I’m exposed to my pack. Scott’s wolf grows increasingly more agitated as he continues to distance himself from us.”

“What does that mean?”

“You would never have to worry about him hurting someone during the full moon if he had a pack. We can teach him to control his wolf. He could still have a normal life. And, to be honest, Ms. McCall, if he is dead set on being a solitary wolf, you won’t have to worry for long. You will be the one he kills when he loses control, and then his little girlfriend’s family will put him down like the monster you fear he is.” It was a harsh, brutal truth, but one that needed to be told. “The lone wolf dies, the pack survives.”

“Maybe, um,” Melissa shifted anxiously on her feet as she pushed the front door open further. “Maybe you should come inside so we can talk.”

“If you think that would be best,” It worked out nicely for him if he could get her on board and convince Scott it was all her idea.

“I have wolfsbane,” She warned as he stepped over the threshold. “And Scott’s asleep upstairs, so don’t try anything.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

 

“I guess we’re lucky this place stayed closed to give the staff a few extra vacation days after the holiday.” Dean mentioned as he picked the locked on the clinic door. “Gives us time to do some shopping.”

“Does describing it as ‘shopping’ make you feel better about ripping off a doctor’s office?” Jax asked as they moved into the building. “Even I think this is fucked up.”

“We could always let the guy die.” Dean said, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. “We’re going through all this to keep him alive, right?”

“Right.” If they let Cameron die without even trying to save him, it would put them at odds, possibly at war, with their Irish gun supplier. “We did come all this way, might as well get what we came for.”

“We didn’t have to come all the way to San Joaquin,” Dean muttered as he ducked his head into an empty patient room. “We could’ve gone to one of the clinics in Charming.”

“You don’t steal from the town you live in.” Jax wasn’t going to do any harm to the people of Charming by stealing valuable supplies from one of the only clinics they had. “How do you wanna do this?”

“This place is closed, but we’re still taking a risk doing this in broad daylight. There’s a risk of someone glancing through the window and seeing us. One of us should keep watch while the other grabs what we came for.” The hunter formulated a plan. “You play guard dog. I’ll get the stuff.”

“Yeah, okay.” He handed the list of medical supplies. “Chibs said the antibiotic is really important. Getting the last bullet out and stitching Cameron up won’t matter much if the infection kills him.”

“I’ll the antibiotic first.” Dean promised as he studied the list. “You keep out of sight and come get me if someone shows up.”

“Yeah, I know how to be a lookout.” It wasn’t his first time for fuck sake. “Go get the shit.”

“I’m going.”

As Dean went off in search of the drug locker, Jax wandered to the front half of the clinic. He sifted through things left out on the receptions desk, coming up empty when it came to anything useful. Next, he meandered into the waiting room, peeking out the large windows above a set of chairs that gave him a clear view of the parking lot, finding it as vacant as when they arrived.

Once confident they were not at risk of being caught, Jax continued his snooping. He skimmed over the assortment of pamphlets hanging on the wall, if only to stave off oncoming boredom. He was only browsing until one caught his eye, he couldn’t help but pick it up and read the information held inside.

The ‘Long-Term Effects of Drug Addicted Infants’ printed in large block letters on the front were like a taunt, something put there specifically to get a rise out of him. As expected, just past the cover, was everything he ever feared for his son. If the increased risk of sudden infant death syndrome wasn’t scary enough, there were also the potential risk of seizures, learning disabilities, developmental problems, and behavioral issues, among other things. If it meant anything, it was that thanks to Wendy’s bad habits, Abel would not be entirely out of the woods when he left the hospital.

The new knowledge left him shaken, had him balling up the pamphlet, crushing it in his fist, and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. If he couldn’t see it, if he pretended he never read it, then everything would be okay. Willful ignorance would allow him to go on believing his son would be a perfectly healthy child when he came home.

With that in mind, Jax turned away from the wall of terror that was cleverly disguised as information packets, and shifted his gaze back to the window. It was where his focus should have been all along, seeing as there was a vintage black Cutlass parked in the lot near the entrance, that hadn’t been there before.

“Oh shit.”

Jax bolted for the hall, getting the hell out of sight before the bell above the door dinged, signaling the Cutlass owner’s entrance. He skidded to a stop outside the supply closet, where Dean was busy gathering items. He gave the hunter no warning as he roughly shoved him all the way in the box-sized closet, unintentionally smacking him face-first into the glass pane covering one of the shelf doors.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean shrieked, grabbing his nose.

“Ssh.” Jax slid an arm around the other man to cover his mouth, using his free hand to shut the door and lock them both inside. “Someone’s here.”

“What?” Dean mumbled against his palm as he elbowed Jax in the ribs.

“Ow. Fuck.” He released his grip on the hunter and doubled over in pain.

“Someone is here?” Dean whipped around so they were face-to-face. “I hope they snuck in through a back entrance or something. You were supposed to be keeping watch.”

“I know what I was supposed to be doing.” He was well aware he’d fucked up. “I got distracted.”

“You got...you got distracted.” Dean cast his eyes heavenward as if he were asking God how he ended up with such an idiot. “You know, for an outlaw, you’re the worst criminal I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He apologized sardonically. “B & E’s aren’t really my strong suit.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious.” Dean huffed, dropping his hands from his nose. “You had one job, Jackson. What was so distracting? You find a titty mag stashed in with all the _Cosmopolitans_ and _Better Homes & Gardens_?”

“It doesn’t matter.” It was not something he was going to get into while they were trapped in a clinic. “What the hell are we gonna do?”

“Wait it out, I guess.” Dean decided with a shrug of his shoulders. “The clinic’s closed, so it’s not like they’ll be seeing any patients. Maybe they came in to pick up something they forgot.”

“Or they came in to finish up some paperwork leftover from before the holiday.” If that were the case, they were in for a long day stuffed in a confined space together. “Knowing our luck, they came in to do inventory.”

“That would suck.” Dean noted, turning back to the cabinet to continue gathering things they would need. “You gonna help or just stand there and look pretty?”

“I’m just gonna stand here and look pretty.” There wasn’t much room for both of them to move around, not unless they were pinned against each other. “I’m good at that.”

“You are good at that.” The hunter agreed, smiling at him over his shoulder. “You and me, trapped in a closet, there’s a joke in there somewhere.”

“I’ve never really been in the closet.” Jax never struggled with his sexual identity like some did, he was lucky in that respect. “I’ve always liked girls. I was just a little slower picking up on the fact that guys were fun to look at too.”

“I’m sure a handsome blond, with a great ass, a hot car, and an awesome sense of humor, who could also kick serious ass, helped you discover that side of yourself.” Dean smirked, green eyes shining with amusement. “Right? Didn’t he?”

“It’s possible.” Jax usually didn’t toot Dean’s horn, especially when the hunter was doing such a good job of it himself, but exceptions could be made. “He was smart too. I liked that. He was also delusional. He had this wild idea that monsters, like witches and ghosts, were real and he had to fight them.”

“Oh, haha.” Dean rolled his eyes. “You mock me, but my hunting prowess is a turn-on for you. I’ve seen the way your pupils dilate with desire when you watch me clean my guns and knives.”

“I do find it attractive.” That wasn’t to say that watching Dean wash his various weapons got Jax all hot and bothered. It had more to do with the hunter’s careful concentration and the way his calloused fingers worked delicately over the barrel of a gun or blade of a knife. “You do have your faults, though.”

“Don’t we all.”

“You’re kind of a flake.” Jax tried not to hold that against him, he knew Dean’s job took precedence over any plans they made. “And you hide things, that’s the one that bothers me.”

“I’m not the only one who keeps things from people.” Dean didn’t deny keeping secrets, but he did make a good point. “What exactly do you think I’m hiding from you?”

“I don’t know.” If he knew that, he wouldn’t be bring it up. “Something tells me that whatever it is, it’s why your brother’s been acting like more of a bitch than usual.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Dean muttered under his breath. “Look, Jax, if I thought it was something you needed to know, I would tell you. I mean, I’ll tell you eventually, but not now. The timing’s not right.”

“If I knew, I could help.” He would prefer that to remaining in the dark. “Let me help.”

“You are helping. By not changing how you see things, by being normal, you’re helping.” Dean closed the cabinet door and shifted back around to face him once more. “I need that. Everyone that knows treats me differently, like I’m gonna disappear at any moment. Sam’s pissed off all the time. Bobby gets this sad look when he thinks I’m not watching. Derek’s worried on his dad’s behalf.”

“Derek knows?” Jax had major concerns about where he fell on the information-sharing tree if the new kid was being told secrets before he was. “What the hell, Dean?”

“I told him to prove a point, not because I wanted him to know.” The hunter argued. “And I will tell you when I’m ready. All right?”

“All right.” It’s not like he had a choice in the matter unless someone started talking. “It’s not like your dying or anything, right?”

“Yeah.” Dean swallowed thickly, ducking his head. “Right.”

“Good.” The words didn’t put Jax at ease, but he accepted them nonetheless. “So did you find everything on the list?”

“Yep.” Dean nodded, relaxing at the change of subject.

 _“Then maybe the two of you are ready to come out_.” A female voice sounded through the door before it swung open, revealing a very familiar, very beautiful, brunette woman.

“Tara….” Her name slipped from Jax’s lips like a sigh, as he found himself unable to fully process that his high school sweetheart was standing in front of him for the first time since she left Charming. “You’re…here.”

“Yes, I am, as are you and Dean.” She smiled cordially at the hunter who only waved a hand in response. “If your pants were around your ankles and this was a janitor’s closet, I might think we were back in high school.”

“Oh yeah, that’s how I introduced you two. I forgot. That’s funny.” Or maybe not so funny, considering he and Tara had been dating at the time. “It’s been so long, we can laugh about it now.”

“Shut up, Jax.” Dean kicked his calf. “Just…shut up.”

“Does one of you want to tell me why you’re stealing from the clinic?” Tara asked, sounding far less judgmental than Jax would have expected. “You know it caters to low income families, right?”

“Yeah, we know. That means it can’t afford a real security system.” Dean reasoned flippantly. “Anything more than a few deadbolts would have taken more extensive planning.”

“Someone we know got hurt. We need the supplies to fix him up. We didn’t want to steal them, but we had no choice.” Jax tried to explain their little heist in a way that hopefully wouldn’t anger the good doctor. “I swear I didn’t know you worked here. I thought you were still in Chicago.”

“I moved back after my dad died. This is a temporary job until I leave for _Doctors Without Borders_ next week.” Tara shoved her hands in her lab coat pockets and leaned against the doorframe. “The guy you’re stealing supplies for, I’m guessing he has something to do with the club, which is why he’s not being treated at a hospital.”

“He saved a club member’s life.” Jax wouldn’t go into detail, Tara was a civilian who did not need to know the how’s and why’s of it all. “We can pay you for the stuff we’re taking. You can call it an anonymous donation made to the clinic.”

“If you’re risking jail time by robbing a clinic, the guy has to be hurt pretty bad.” Tara gave the duffle bag of supplies a considering look. “Do you even know how to use any of that?”

“Nope.” Dean confessed with a cheeky grin. “We got nothing but an army medic and a prayer. He’s probably gonna die without a real doctor. Wanna help us out?”

“Dean!” Jax wanted to sock the hunter for even suggesting it.

“It’s not like she’s ignorant to what you do or who you are.” Dean remarked pragmatically. “She grew up in Charming, just like you. She spent time in the clubhouse when you were an item. She knows the kind of crap that goes on there.”

“That doesn’t fucking matter.” Jax admonished with a shake of his head. ”I’m not getting her involved.”

“Then I guess little brother’s getting his wish, and that guy is going to die.” Dean retorted carelessly. “It doesn’t matter to me, but I got the impression it mattered to the club, therefore to you.”

“I’ll do it.” Tara cut in to their little dispute.

“Tara, no.” Jax could not let her do that. “I’m not involving you in this.”

“I’m volunteering. I’ve been feeling charitable since I left Chicago. I’m a doctor, I cannot, in good conscience, let someone die if there is something I can do to stop it.” She acknowledged calmly. “I took an oath.”

“The guy is probably going to die with or without you.” In Jax’s opinion, that was reason enough for her to keep her hands clean and clear of all the bullshit. “Do you really wanna be an accessory to that?”

“Don’t underestimate my abilities. I am very good at what I do.” Tara brushed off any concerns he had about her failing at the task put forth. “However, if you’re right, and the patient dies during or after I operate on him, then I’m leaving the country next week anyway. Moving my flight up a few days will seem like I’m so excited to be helping others that I couldn’t wait another week, and less like I’m fleeing an accessory to murder charge.”

“Girl’s got a point.” Dean, unsurprisingly, took the woman’s side on the matter.

“Fine.” Jax knew he would regret it, but when his current and former flame tag-teamed him, and not in a sexy way, he really had no other option but to give in to their demands and hope like hell it all worked out. “You can help us.”

“He means _‘thank you’_ and _‘we’ll gladly accept your services.’_ ” Dean translated what he heard Jax say into what he thought Jax should have said. “He is very happy to have your help.”

“No, he’s not.” Tara called bullshit on the pretty lies the hunter was telling. “But you are and I appreciate that.”

“Can we go now, please?” There was something very disconcerting about having Tara and Dean on the same side of things that made Jax want to put a swift end to it. “We got a guy bleeding out at the clubhouse who needs help sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

* * *

 

Spending the morning helping the club keep an ally alive, was not in Stiles plans for the day. Luckily for them, his original plans had only consisted of lounging in bed, trying to sleep off his cold, plans that could easily be modified. He simply substituted the bed for an uncomfortable chair in the chapel and traded sleep for playing a cheap knockoff of twenty-questions with Juice to curb their growing boredom. It was a fun game when Juice was open to sharing things he normally wouldn’t.

“Six children.…” Stiles gulped. “ _Six_?”

“Six.” Juice confirmed with a nod. “I am one of six kids.”

“Jesus.” That seemed a bit excessive, not to mention expensive considering how much it cost to raise children. “I weep for the loss of sanity your mother must have suffered raising six children.”

“There would have been seven of us,” Juice admitted, shifting to rest his hip on the table while trying not to jostle the patient too much. “I had a twin I absorbed in the womb.”

“Oh my god.” That was awful, but Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

“Having a twin would have been nice. I could’ve used the backup when dealing my other siblings. You know how many injuries I had as a kid that could be traced back to one of them?” A pained expression crossed over Juice’s face. “It wasn’t easy being #5 out of 6. You got lucky with Jax, he was old enough to know how to mess with you without hurting you. Me, though, I was always getting my ass kicked. Like when I was two, my sister Marianna, she’s #4, she cracked my skull open.”

“How’d that happen?” Perhaps the better question was _why_ did it happen.

“My parents went Christmas shopping and left our oldest brother, Ray, in charge. That meant we were banished to the backyard while he made out with his girlfriend on the sofa. Marianna and the neighbor kids were throwing snowballs at each other over the fence and I guess I tried to play too, but she didn’t like that. She pushed me away as hard as she could and I fell. Underneath the snow on the ground, right where my head landed, was a large rock.” Juice lifted his free hand to rub a spot on his shaved head. “Mama said I was unconscious for over a week. Ever since then, if I complained of a headache, someone would tell that story and Marianna would get all broody and guilt ridden.”

“Well, at least there was no permanent damage.” Although, some might find that to be a debatable statement. “That was probably one of those times your parents regretted having so many kids.”

“Mama always said six children was a blessing.” Juice said derisively. “I think she only said that because Felix, #6, was the only one of us really planned. The rest of us were mistakes.”

“Surprises.” Stiles corrected. “ _Beautiful_ surprises, or at least that’s what Dad says about me.”

“My mom and your dad are too nice to tell us the truth.” Juice quipped. “I‘m sure, to the two of them, we are nice surprises.”

“And, what, everyone else thinks we’re mistakes?” Stiles knew he was a mistake to certain individuals, but he was a surprise to more than just his dad, or at least he hoped he was. “My bio-mom, your bio-dad, we’re mistakes to them.”

“Yes, we are.” The Son muttered sullenly. “Hey, um, thanks for not pushing me about calling my mom.”

“You’ll do it when you’re ready.” He wasn’t going to push Juice about it, not when he believed the other man would work up the courage to make the call on his own volition.

“Would you two shut the fuck up?” Cameron was too weak to find the strength to inch his head off the table to gripe at them. “If you aren’t flirting, you’re trading life stories. Enough.”

“You know, your life is literally in Juice’s hands, right? All he has to do is pull his fingers out of your ass and you’ll bleed out in a matter of minutes.” Stiles wondered why someone in Cameron’s position thought it was okay to bark orders or be an all around prick. “As long as he shoved them back in before Chibs came back, no one would be the wiser. You’d just be a casualty of your own stupidity and poor life choices.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna move my hand.” Juice assured the patient. “Not unless you keep being an asshole, because then I’d feel obligated to act out whatever sick idea Stiles has about your demise.”

“You just like hearing me plot murder.” Stiles was onto him and his questionable kinks. “The longer you insist on keeping him alive, the more time I have to think up creative ways for him to die.”

“Is he serious?” Cameron asked Juice, his face twisted in equal parts concern and fear.

“I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell sometimes.” The Son replied nonchalantly.

“Hey Stiles,” Gemma pulled the door open far enough to poke her head in. “Didn’t a judge issue a restraining order against all the kids you were trapped in the school with? They’ve gotta stay away from you and your daddy, right?”

“Yeah.” They were barred from contacting him as well, but that didn’t stop a certain someone from trying. “Why?”

“One just barged in like he owned the place.” The matriarch was not pleased about the intrusion, if the look of pure contempt written on her face was anything to go by. “People have been shot for walking into the clubhouse uninvited, but we decided we had enough problems with Cameron, we didn’t want another body on our hands.”

“I’m not just a body, darling,” Cameron objected to her assessment of him. “Don’t write me off yet.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but we don’t have high hopes for your survival.” Gemma said bluntly.

“Does that mean I can move my hand?” Juice perked up at the prospect of being able to put distance between himself and the injured.

“Not while he’s still breathing.” Gemma was forced to disappoint the Son. “Stiles, are you gonna go talk to Scott or should we throw him out on his ass?”

“I’ll talk to him.” If he didn’t do it now, Scott would find another way to harass him.

Stiles grudgingly stood form his chair and lumbered out to the main room with lead feet. Scott stood awkwardly near the stripper pole, looking terribly out of place and incredibly uncomfortable. Stiles might have felt bad for him if he wasn’t so aggravated by the fact that he was there at all.

“You shouldn’t be here, Scott.” Showing up in Charming, at the clubhouse, was crossing a serious line Stiles had drawn a long time ago. “Charming is off limits.”

“You brought Derek here.” Scott argued petulantly.

“Different situation. Derek is Bobby’s kid, Bobby is Dean’s people, and Dean is Jax’s.” And the last time Stiles checked, Derek was an ally, not a potential enemy. “Why are you here?”

“Peter Hale is the alpha.” Scott revealed, unaware Stiles already had that information.

“Yeah, and?” That was yesterday’s news.

“You knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me?” The wolf snapped, his voice overflowing with betrayal. “He was at my house this morning. He was talking to my mom!”

“Is she okay?” Stiles wasn’t happy with Scott, but he wished no ill will on Melissa. “Did he hurt her?”

“No. No, he didn’t hurt her. They just _talked_.” Which was apparently worse than if Peter had ripped her throat out, judging by the disdain in Scott’s tone. “He convinced her I need a pack. She wants me to talk to him about what it means to be pack.”

“You should talk to Derek about that.” Stiles didn’t trust Peter, and he couldn’t very well suggest that Scott fall in line behind the alpha who had spent the last few months terrorizing them all. “You’ll need a pack if you want to survive.”

“Well, we know who the alpha is now. We can stop him.” Scott’s eyes flashed gold with the anticipation. “Derek said if I killed the alpha who bit me, it might cure me. I could be human again.”

“ _Might_ being the operative word there.” At best, it was a Hail Mary that would only succeed in turning Scott into more of an animal than he already was. “It was a theory, not a guarantee. So, what, you’re going to kill Peter, because you hate having super strength and crazy fast healing? Are you going to take a life so you can go back to being a weak, fragile human? You don’t see what’s wrong with that?”

“I just want to be _normal_.” The wolf whined pitifully.

“To regain that normality, you have to become Peter.” He didn’t understand why Scott couldn’t grasp the reality of what he was willing to do to achieve his goal. “To defeat the monster, you become the monster.”

“That won’t happen to me.” Scott insisted.

“Say you kill Peter and it doesn’t work. You would become the alpha.” Stiles did not even want to think about what Scott would do, who he would become, with that kind of power running through him. “You’d have a dead body under your belt. The Argents won’t care that it’s Peter’s, they’ll just see it as justification for putting you down.”

“I can talk to them. I can make some kind of deal.” Scott responded with a crackpot idea of a plan. “They want Peter gone just as much as we do.”

“Don’t they want all werewolves gone?” Gemma cut in. “That’s why they burned down Derek’s house, isn’t it?”

“According to Derek,” Scott spit out the other wolf’s name like it was a dirty word. “We don’t know if that’s what actually happened. He could be lying.”

“For what purpose?” Stiles couldn’t think of a single reason why Derek would lie about something like that.

“It’s just as likely that Argent’s daughter – Allison, right? It’s just as likely that she’s the one lying to you.” Gemma pointed out. “She could be perfectly aware of what her family does. She might be getting close to you so you’ll let your guard down. She’s waiting for you to slip, so she has a reason to kill you.”

“Allison wouldn’t do that to me.” Scott glared menacingly at the matriarch. “She doesn’t even know I’m a werewolf.”

“You sure about that? You didn’t meet her until after your little transformation,” Gemma pursed her lips and pinned the wolf with an unimpressed stare. “No girl was interested in you before you were bitten, and besides the werewolf hunter’s daughter, no girl has been interested in you since. How do you explain that?”

“Other girls have been interested in me. Lydia Martin! She kissed me our first day back at school after we were locked in. We made out in a classroom!” The wolf claimed fiercely to the woman, before turning his apologetic eyes Stiles way. “It was the full moon. I didn’t know what I was doing. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Okay.” Stiles didn’t see what that had to do with him.

“I’m gonna make it up to you.” Scott promised. “I will.”

“Why would Stiles care that you made out with some tart?” Gemma questioned curiously. “Which one is Lydia, anyway?”

“She’s the one who wanted to use a molotov cocktail as a form of self-defense.” If that experience taught Stiles anything, it was that he never wanted to be stuck in a life or death situation with Lydia ever again. “And I don’t care who she makes out with.”

“Stiles has had a crush on her forever.” Scott proclaimed, highly exaggerating any feelings Stiles may have had for the girl. “Making out with her was a major bro-code violation, but I fixed it.”

“Exactly how did you fix it?” He was confident the word _fix_ was about to become synonymous with _fucked up_.

“I got you a date with her.” Scott smiled proudly. “You’re going to the winter formal tonight with Lydia.”

“Like hell I am.” There was no fucking way he would subject himself to that.

“You got him a date with a _girl_?” Gemma snorted in disbelief.

“Shut up, Gem.” The last thing Stiles needed was for her to let Scott in on one of the few secrets he had left. “Scott, I’m not going to the dance with Lydia or anyone else.”

“Why not?”

“I’m sick, for one.” He took a tissue from his pocket and made a show of wiping snot from his nose. “Two, I’m busy with things here. Oh, and three, I don’t want to go.”

“Lydia is really looking forward to it. She’s on the rebound, Jackson broke up with her.” Scott tried and failed to make escorting Lydia to the formal seem more appealing. “Allison said Lydia was excited to go with you.”

“No, she didn’t, and no, Lydia isn’t.” The truth was, Allison and Scott were liars, and Lydia was probably terrified by the idea of going to the dance with him. “Lydia thinks I’m a stalker who’s been in love with her since the third grade. I honestly believe her ignoring me, acting like I don’t exist, is a defense mechanism.”

“You can’t take that personally. She ignores almost everyone that’s not in circle of friends.” Well, for once Scott wasn’t wrong. “It’s not because she knows you’re in love with her.”

“You wanna know how that rumor about me being desperately in love with her started?” If his friend was having trouble remembering, Stiles was happy to help him out. “You, Scott, _you_ started it. And you stole most of what you said from _The O.C_.!”

Stiles would take minimal responsibility, Lydia’s name had fallen from his lips that fateful day in sixth grade. He had been backed into a corner, forced to confess who he liked or suffer endless badgering from his friends. The problem was, he didn’t like anybody, but he couldn’t exactly say that to them, they would have thought he was odd. So, he chose the most unattainable girl in school, knowing there was no way, in a million years, she would ever like him back. It all spiraled horribly out of control, thanks to big mouth.

“It’s not a rumor.” Scott never could pick up on a lie, even years after the fact when Stiles laid it out for him. “I only let it slip, and embellished a little about the details, because I thought she liked you too. If she knew you liked her then things could’ve happened between you.”

“Well, the road hell is paved with good intentions, Scotty.” As it was, Stiles life had been hell before that rumor spread throughout their junior high, so at least the ridicule that followed remained consistent. “Lydia would never _willingly_ agree to go anywhere with me. How on earth did Allison convince her to take me to the dance?”

“Uh, well, Lydia felt bad about kissing me, and she wanted to make it up to Allison. Allison told her they’d be square if she went to the dance with you.” It was amazing how Scott did not see the problem with any of that. “Coach said I couldn’t go, but I’m gonna sneak in. Allison’s going, as _friends_ , with Jackson.”

“This Allison girl sounds like a bitch. Taking her friends ex to the formal, then making the same friend go to the dance with someone she thinks is stalking her,” Gemma waved a hand in Stiles direction. “I guess you two are perfect for each other, Scott, seeing as you’re a little asshole.”

“Scott, I’m not going to the dance.” Stiles repeated, hoping his friend would just accept it and let the foolish idea drop. “I don’t feel good. I don’t want to go, especially with someone who would rather have her eyes picked out by vultures than go with me.”

“Stiles, please.” The wolf pleaded. “If you don’t go, Lydia won’t go. She doesn’t want to go alone. It won’t work if she’s not there.”

“ _What_ won’t work?”

“Jackson getting jealous after seeing Lydia with another guy.” Oh, that was all kinds of hilarious. Imagine that, Jackson Whittemore being jealous of him. Ha! “He would be busy trying to win her back, and I’d have Allison all to myself.”

“Wow.” Stiles had no clue how to respond to _that_. “There are no words, Scott. None.”

“What?” Scott’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

“You and your little girlfriend are using your best friends as a means to an end. You don’t give a shit how they feel about any of it, so long as you get what you want.” Gemma simplified the problem for him. “You’re just a manipulative little bastard disguised as a dumb puppy, aren’t you?”

“What?” Scott gaped at the matriarch.

 _“Bloody hell!”_  The Irishman bellowed through the chapel doors. _“Watch what you’re doing! Don’t shove it all the way up my ass!”_

“What’s going on in there?” Scott asked, peering around Stiles and Gemma to try to catch a glimpse inside.

“Juice has a friend over.” Okay, so it wasn’t greatest excuse, but it was the best Stiles could come up with on short notice. “They’re having…private time.”

 _“Settle down. The lad’s been at it for hours, he’s getting tired.”_ Chibs Scottish lit floated through the doors. _“Now just open your mouth and take some of this. Yeah, that’s a good man.”_

“Oh, Jesus.” Gemma clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“Chi-Chibs is helping.” Stiles grimaced, trying to shake the image that conjured in his mind.

“Helping….” Scott echoed dubiously. “It doesn’t, um, it doesn’t sound like Juice’s _friend_ is, uh, having a good time. It sounds like he’s in pain.”

“Some people enjoy pain.” Gemma commented with a sly smirk.

“Oh my god.” Stiles groaned in disgust.

“Hey,” Chibs hollered as he pushed the door open far enough for them to see Juice standing post at Cameron’s lower half. “He’s enjoying our company just fine.”

As if to prove that point, Juice began mimicking slapping Cameron’s ass, moving his hand back and forth without actually making contact. The child-like grin of playful amusement only added to the effect.

“Oh, no. Uh-uh.” Stiles slammed his entire body against the doors to force them closed. “No. J-Just no. No.”

“Was that…” Scott’s eyes went wide with shock. “Was that blood all over the place?”

“Of course not. It was um…colored lube—flavored lube— _body paint_!” Stiles stumbled through a list of increasingly ridiculous excuses that could account for the crimson substance soaking the chapel table. “Uh, hey, you wanted me to go to the formal, right? I’ll go if you forget what you just saw.”

“Deal.” Scott readily agreed, his voice full of excitement. “Lydia really wants to go, she just doesn’t want to go alone.”

“I get it, she needs a date.” Stiles was the sacrificial lamb. “What needs to happen now is, you need to go home. There’s a lot going on here and you’d just get in the way.”

“Stiles, we still need to talk—“

“We will. We’ll talk at the dance.” He lied, if only to get the wolf moving. “I have to get home and find my suit. Lydia won’t accept anything less than something stain-free and neatly pressed.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Scott sighed. “I’ve gotta find my suit too. I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Yep.”

Stiles sagged in relief as Scott left the clubhouse. That relief was short lived when Jax stomped in, face beet red with anger. Stiles was so focused on his brother’s ire, he barely noticed Dean and the pretty brunette woman trailing after him.

“Tell me that wasn’t Scott I just saw walk out of here.” Jax sneered as if Stiles had invited his worst enemy over for a play date.

“I would, but you don’t like it when I lie to you.” Given his brother’s already sour mood, Stiles was going to press his luck by irritating him further. “He just showed up. Now he’s gone. Relax.”

“What’s she doing here?” Gemma glowered at the woman who had accompanied the men inside.

“She volunteered to help us with Cameron. Chill, Mom.” Jax took a protective step in front of the woman. “She wanted to be sure the supplies we stole from her clinic would be used correctly.”

“Uh-huh.” For whatever reason, Gemma didn’t seem to buy that story.

“Stiles, you remember Tara, right?” Jax motioned to the woman.

“Kind of. I mean, I know who she is.” He knew her in connection to Jax, but other than that, he had no recognition of her whatsoever. “She was your first love, right?”

“Um, yeah.” Jax scratched the back of his head, suddenly uncomfortable. “She also changed a few of your dirty diapers.”

“Hello.” She offered him a small grin. “You got…tall?”

“Uh, yeah. Well, I’d love to stay and catch up, but I have to get home and get ready.” Stiles really wished he could weasel his way out of his evening plans, but he doubted it would be that easy. “Unfortunately, I have a date tonight.”

“You know, some people actually enjoy dates.” Dean commented light-heartedly.

“He has a date with a _girl_.” Gemma clarified like it held some kind of significance.

“Why do you say ‘girl’ like that? I like girls fine.” Who Stiles found attractive didn’t really hinge upon their gender. “I might like my date if she believed her brain was more important than her social status.”

“If you don’t like this girl, why are you going out with her?” Tara inquired, oblivious to the circumstances of the situation.

“It’s a long story.” And not one he had the time to share. “It was nice to see you, Tara. Jax, I might be back tonight, it depends on how long I’m stuck in hell. See you guys later.”

Stiles said his goodbyes as he made his way out of the clubhouse. He pulled his cell from his pocket while he crossed the parking lot, pressing #1 on his speed dial.

 _“Hey buddy.”_ His dad greeted as he answered his phone.

“Hey Pop,” Stiles yanked open the Jeep’s door and slid inside. “Do I have a suit somewhere?”

 _“Yeah, but you were eleven the last time you wore it, so it’s not going to fit.”_ The older man was right about that, Stiles had been through a few growth spurts since he was that age. _“One of mine could work, if you don’t mind it being a little big on you. What do you need it for?”_

“Scott got me a date for the stupid winter formal.” Stiles wasn’t the school dance kind of person, he thought Scott of all people would know that. “With Lydia Martin.”

 _“Ah. Okay.”_ His dad murmured sympathetically. _“I told you that ‘crush’ would come back to bite you in the ass someday. I thought Lydia was dating the Whittemore kid?”_

“He dumped her and is taking Allison to the dance.” It was a dick move by both Jackson and Allison. “Scott plans to woo Allison away from him while I keep Lydia company.”

 _“Lydia accepted the date, she must like you.”_ His father reasoned with the kind of blind optimism only a parent could muster.

“She doesn’t like me.” He was fairly certain she hated his guts. “She likes to pretend I don’t exist.”

 _“She accepted the date with you, so she has to like you a little bit.”_ The older man remarked naively. _“Don’t lead her on. Let her down easy.”_

“Going out with me is her punishment for kissing Scott. Allison is making her go with me.” The redhead had to be conned into accepting him as her escort. “She does not like me, like at all.”

 _“You obviously don’t want to go with her either.”_ How very perceptive his father was to pick up on that. _“So why are you?”_

“I had to get Scott out of the clubhouse somehow.” If the wolf had stayed any longer, he would have seen things he shouldn’t have. “He needed Lydia to have a date to make Jackson jealous, so Allison would be left unattended.”

 _“So Lydia needs a date, that doesn’t necessarily have to be you.”_ His father clucked his tongue as an idea popped into his head. _“Find her another date.”_

“Oh, sure, I’ll just pull one out of my hat.” He knew a few eligible bachelors, but none that were age appropriate for a high school girl.

 _“I’m sure you’ll figure something out, Stiles.”_ His dad’s faith in him was remarkable. _“I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do, especially for one of_ them _.”_

“I know, Pop.”

 _“Don’t you think it’s about time you told Scott the truth about your crush on Lydia?”_ The older man subtly pushed him to come clean. _“That it’s non-existent. You’ve never liked her like that.”_

“I liked her when we were little kids.” He wouldn’t have called it a crush, more of a respect, but that was before she started acting like a dimwit.

 _“That was a long time ago.”_ His father reminded him. _“You stopped liking her before you ever told Scott you did.”_

“I told Scott I thought she was cute, and he blew it way out of proportion. If I told Scott I lied about liking her, he would want to know why, an that’s not something I want to tell him…ever.” Stiles wouldn’t even tell his brother that secret, let alone his best friend. “I could tell him a different truth, that I’m kind of gay, but then he’d inadvertently out me to the entire school, thinking he’s doing me a favor. And let’s be real, the only person who has ever come out at Beacon Hills High and remained unscathed was Danny Mahealani. No one else has been so lucky. Either way, Scott will give me the sad eyes and ask why I didn’t trust him enough to tell him sooner.”

 _“He hasn’t given you a reason to trust him as of late.”_ His dad muttered bitterly. _“You don’t have to go to this dance if you don’t want to, Stiles. If you can’t find Lydia another date, just remind her and Scott that there is a restraining order in place. They can spend their night at the station instead of at the formal.”_

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He might just have to play that card before the day was done. “Hey Pop, I’m gonna let you go. I’ll be home soon.”

_“All right, son. I’ll see you in a little while.”_

Stiles ended the call with his father but didn’t put his phone away just yet. He thought about what his dad suggested, finding Lydia another date, as he scrolled through his contacts. There was no one in his phonebook who would be a suitable replacement date, or at least that’s what he thought until he made it to the _S_ ’s on the list.

“Oh, that’s perfect.” He never hit dial so quickly in his life. He could barely contain his glee when he heard ‘click’ of the call connecting. “Sammy!”

 _“Only Dean can call me that.”_ The younger Winchester groused, like the grumpy Gus that he was. _“What do you want, Stiles?”_

“I wanted to apologize for stabbing you at Christmas dinner.” He wasn’t the least bit sorry, but he could pretend like he was if the made the hunter more agreeable. “I have the perfect way to make it up to you.”

 _“I’m not gonna like this, am I?”_ That depended on how he felt about spending the evening with a pretty girl.

“I’m leaving the clubhouse now. I’ll text you when I get to Beacon Hills, we’ll meet up and go over the details.” Having the conversation in person would give Sam less time to find a reason to say _no_. “Okay?”

_“Fine.”_

* * *

 

There was a certain level of awkwardness that came with being in a confined space with your lover and his ex. It was Dean’s fault, he was the one who invited Tara back to clubhouse. At the time it seemed like the best course of action. However, the longer he spent in the presence of the former couple, the more he felt like he was getting in the way of something.

Jax and Tara got on like they hadn’t missed a day. They navigated around one another so easily, chatted as if they were the best of friends. Even standing beside a bullet ridden, bleeding man, there was still a charge between them, a pull of attraction that couldn’t be denied. It was all a little too much for Dean to take.

He’d excused himself to the garage after a while. He found solace in tinkering around with the Impala. It was easier to focus on his Baby than to think about the way Jax and Tara still leaned into each other’s space like they were meant to be there, even after all the years that had past. It was harder than he thought it would be to repress the jealousy he felt when it came to _her_.

He didn’t hate Tara or harbor ill feelings toward her, he had no reason to. He was the villain of this piece, of Jax and Tara’s adolescent love story. He had swept in like a hurricane and whisked Jax away from her, although it was never his intention.

He never pursued Jax. He didn’t chase after him or vie for his affection. He and Jax were just drawn to each other in a way neither of them had ever felt before.

It’d been wrong to act on their attraction to one another while Jax was already involved with Tara, but they were young and incapable of ignoring their growing bond. Whatever it had been, what it still was, had lit up so brightly they were sure they’d burn to ash without it. It was something that couldn’t be resisted, at least that’s what they told themselves.

They’d snuck around, ducking in dark corners, rushing down the school hallways after class to catch a few moments alone in the janitors closet. Tara had caught them on more than one occasion, but Jax always convinced her not to leave him. Jax would tell his sweetheart that what he and Dean had was just sex, nothing more, and she believed him every time.

It didn’t hurt then that way it would now. He and Jax hadn’t been ready to take that leap then, but Dean thought they were now. After seeing the way Jax and Tara still were together, perhaps he had been wrong about that too.

“I could hear you brooding all the way in the clubhouse.” Jax’s voice boomed off the garage walls like a gunshot.

“How’s the backroom surgery going?” Dean chose to ignore the dig at his mood in favor of checking the patient’s status. “Is Cameron gonna live?”

“Tara thinks so.” Jax replied, leaning against the workbench. “Mom’s helping her out.”

“And you left them _alone_?” If he remembered correctly, Gemma and Tara had a special kind of hate for one another. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“They’ll be fine.” The other man brushed off his concern. “I’m more worried about you.”

“Why?” There was nothing wrong with him. He was absolutely fine. “I’m good, man.”

“You’re a liar.” Jax seemed to enjoy insulting him today, first he was a flake, and now he was liar. “Look, what happened between me and Tara was a long time ago.”

“I know.” The official relationship had ended when Tara left for college, but that did not mean their feelings for each other left with her. “You still care about her.”

“Yeah, I do. She was the first person I ever loved in that way. A part of me will always care about her.” Jax acknowledged thoughtfully. “You know how that is. It’s the same with you and Cassie. You loved her enough to tell her who you really were. From what you told me, some of those feelings were still there when you saw her a few years back, after her dad was killed.”

“That’s different. When I saw her again, it gave us closure. We didn’t have that before.” Dean and Cassie realized it could never work between them, no matter how much they cared about one another. They were able to say goodbye and part on good terms. “You and Tara never had that. She was there one day and gone the next. It is abundantly clear that things are unfinished between you. You gravitate to her. Did you know that? It’s like you can’t help but be in her space.”

“You’re right. Tara and I never had closure. Maybe we can have it now.” Jax took a few cautious steps toward him, as if he were unsure if Dean would welcome him. “I do care about her. I won’t lie and say I don’t. But I don’t want her. I don’t want to be with her.”

“You sure about that?” Even Dean could see her appeal, he saw it in high school, and he could see it now. “She’s smart, beautiful, tough as nails, and she’s _stable_.”

“There a reason you’re trying to sell me on her?” Jax narrowed his eyes. “You trying to shuck me off on her, so you don’t have to put up with me?”

“Of course not.” That wasn’t his intention. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy with you.” Jax cupped a warm hand to the nape of Dean’s neck. “I was happy with her as a kid, before I met you. If what I had with her matched what I have with you, then I never would have cheated on her so many times with _you_.”

“High school was a long time ago, Jax.” A lot of what was between them back then could have been chalked up to hormones, love hadn’t really entered the picture. “We’ve changed. We’re all different people now.”

“Yet, I’m still out here with your crabby ass and not inside with the beautiful girl.” The other man said softly as he massaged the tension from Dean’s neck. “Some things don’t change. Even when I can be with Tara, I still want to be with you.”

“I’m not crabby.” A smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s lips. “I kinda like you too, I guess.”

“Oh, you more than like me. I’m damn sure of that.” A smug smirked stretched across Jax’s face. “You done moping?”

“I’m not moping.” He did not do ridiculous things like mope. “I’m working on the Impala.”

“That’s your tell.” Jax rapped his knuckles against the car door. “You work on your baby when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Dean huffed as his cellphone started ringing. He held a finger up to silence Jax as he answered. “Yeah?”

 _“Is Derek with you, by chance?”_ Bobby asked in an alarmed rush.

“No.” Dean had not seen the wolf since dinner the previous night. “You don’t know where he is?”

 _“He got antsy last night and took off. I thought he would be back in a few hours, but he hasn’t been home.”_ The stress of having a missing child was evident in Bobby’s strained tone. _“I went to his old house, he wasn’t there. Peter’s gone too.”_

“How the hell did that happen?” Dean could understand Derek going AWAL, it was par for the course at this point, but Peter was another story. “What’d you do, leave him unattended?”

 _“I was more worried about where my kid was then keeping an eye on his uncle!”_ Bobby shouted over the line. _“I don’t care where Peter is. I just want to know if Derek is all right.”_

“He’s not with us, Bobby. I’m sorry.” He wished he had a better answer for him. “I’ll come up and help you find him.”

“Me too.” Jax nudged Dean’s arm. “I’ll help out.”

“Jax and I are coming up to help you.” The more people on the search the better. “We’re on our way.”

* * *

 

Stiles met Sam at the high school late in the afternoon. He learned from Scott that Lydia was there assisting the formal committee with last minute decorations. They found her just where they were told she would be, doling out orders about what went where to the other kids.

“I thought joining in on school activities was beneath someone of your status,” Stiles remarked as he and Sam joined her.

“I’m supervising so none of these idiots screw it up.” Lydia waved a dismissive hand toward the other students working hard to get the gym decorated in time for the dance. “My date is far less than spectacular, but the formal will be perfect. It has to be to make up for…you.”

“Oh, you are making this so easy.” Any guilt he felt for giving her the boot had vanished as soon as she’d opened her mouth. Now he just felt bad for roping Sam into taking his place. “I know Allison told you I would go to the dance with you tonight, but I’m not gonna be able to make it.”

“Allison guilted me into taking you as my date, and now you’re ditching me?” The redhead seethed, her nostrils flaring in anger. “ _You_ are not ditching _me_. That is unacceptable.”

“The good news is I found you a new date.” He hoped that would be enough to ward off the girls rising temper. “This tall drink of water is going be your escort this evening.”

“Hi,” Sam mumbled awkwardly. “Sam Winchester.”

“Lydia Martin.” Lydia’s eyes raked over the hunter, taking in his appearance, gaze fixing on his flannel shirt. “He’s a bit too rustic for my taste.”

“Give him a chance. He’s as much your type as I am.” Which wasn’t saying much considering Stiles was not her type in any shape, way, or form. “He’s a gentleman, crazy smart, and not inherently a douchebag—“

“Says the guy who stabbed me at dinner last night because he thought I was being an ass.” Sam unconsciously reached for the injured spot on his thigh.

“You gotta let that go.” Stiles had apologized for it once, he wouldn’t apologize twice. “Trust me, Lydia, if you take Sam, Jackson will not be able to take his eyes off you. He will be overcome with jealousy.”

“I don’t care about making Jackson jealous, or making him anything else.” Lydia declared with a _humph_ and a clack of her heels.

“Sure you do. He dumped you. He’s taking your best friend to the dance as an added fuck you.” If you wanted to hurt your ex, that was a good way to dig the knife in and twist. “Allison making you take me to this stupid thing is just another way to stick it to you. I’m a nobody. If I go with you to the dance, you’ll be a joke. Everyone will talk about how far you’ve fallen in such a short amount of time if the only date you could get was with a loser like me.”

“That is exactly why I didn’t want to go to the formal with you.” Lydia didn’t bother disguising her dislike of him.

“But Sam here,” Stiles patted the hunter on the back. “He’s tall, objectively handsome, and he has an aura of mystery. You show up with him and everyone, including Jackson, will be in awe of you. They’ll all be wondering who he is and how you landed him. You’ll be the talk of the night, in a very good way.”

“Hmm.” Lydia cast a considering glance Sam’s way. “Okay. He can escort me to the dance.”

“Good. Great.” That was fan-fucking-tastic. It let Stiles off the hook without an issue. “Have fun tonight. Stay away from the spiked punch. Oh, if you get frisky, remember to use a condom.”

“Jesus, Stiles.” Sam blanched at his words.

“Seriously, the last thing we need is the pretentious, uptight, know-it-all spawn the two of you could create.” A child born to the two of them was what nightmares were made of. “Anyway, I’m gonna go home and pass out for a few hours. You kids have fun tonight.”

“Hold up,” Sam stopped him. “Did you call me a ‘tall drink of water’?”

“Yeah, I don’t know where the hell that came from. That was weird.” He wouldn’t be saying that again, that was for sure. “Lydia, he’s all yours. I’m sure he has a suit that’s up to your standards. You’ll have to do something about the hair, though.”

Stiles let the echo of Sam’s indignant squawk of ‘you’re not touching my hair’ carry him out of the school. He felt about a hundred pounds lighter as he made his way to the parking lot, grateful for freedom. His mood soured quickly when he saw Peter Hale leaning against his Jeep.

“If you’ve messed with Roscoe again, I will kill you.” Stiles thrust an accusing finger at the werewolf. “He’s barely back on his feet as it is.”

“Don’t you mean, back on his wheels?” Peter kicked the front, passenger side tire. “I need your help.”

“No.” The Stilinski Help Line was disconnected for the remainder of the day. “Can’t you people see that I’m sick?”

“Derek is missing.” The alpha’s voice was steady, but it couldn’t mask his worry. “You _are_ going to help me find him.”

“You’re the werewolf, sniff him out.” What good was having your ability to smell supernaturally enhanced if you weren’t going to use it? “How am I supposed to help?”

“You’re a smart kid, I’m sure you can be useful somehow.” Peter tilted his head to the side. “I don’t see why you’re reluctant. You like Derek. You should want to help him.”

“I wouldn’t say I liked Derek.” He tolerated Derek at best. They were allies with the option to become friends if that was where their relationship took them. “Do you even know where he could have gone?”

“The only place I could think of is our family home, or what’s left of it.” A wave of grief passed over Peter’s face, but was gone in an instant. “He was dwelling there when he first came home.”

“I guess we’ll start there.” He had no idea why Peter hadn’t done that already. “If you can catch his scent from the house, we can follow it from there.”

“Oh, I won’t be going with you. I have other things to attend to.” Peter said ominously. “I’ll search the town while _you_ search the preserve.”

“How do you expect me to search the entire preserve by myself?” That seemed like a heavy order for one person. “How am I supposed to know if he’s been there recently? I don’t have a super-sniffer like you. I can’t track him like a bloodhound.”

“You could, if you wanted to.” Peter took a calculating step toward him. “You see, I like you Stiles. Since you are helping me find my nephew, I’m going to give you something in return.”

“Give me something in return?” Stiles probably – no, definitely—did not want to know what he meant by that.

“The bite.”

“What?” Seriously, _what_?

“Do you want the bite?”  The alpha skimmed his index finger down the length of Stiles right arm. “If it doesn’t kill you, and it could, you’ll become like us.”

“Like _you_.”

“Yes, a werewolf.” Peter looped his fingers around Stiles wrist. “Would you like me to draw you a picture? That first night in the woods, I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could’ve easily been you.”

“You told Juice your fear of my mother kept you from biting me.” His mother had a protective instinct that rivaled even Gemma’s, so the wolf’s fear of her was not unfounded.

“I am confident that I could take Claudia if she did rise from the grave to exact retribution.”

“You’re a stupid man, aren’t you?” Stiles had never been frightened by either of his mothers, but he understood why others were. Peter was a fool if he had forgotten.

“If you took the bite, you would be every bit as powerful as Scott.” Peter rallied over the insult. “No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger, and quicker, and more popular, watching him get the girls.”

“I don’t care about any of that.” One thing he learned growing up with SAMCRO was that power corrupted even the purest souls. He’d never cared much about popularity, finding obscurity far more enticing. He was plenty fast for a human, and unlike his friend, girls were not the only thing on Stiles mind.

“You and Scott could be equals or maybe more.” The alpha brought Stiles wrist up to his lips, grazing his fangs across his skin. “Yes or no?”

“No.” Stiles yanked his arm from the wolf’s grip. “I don’t want to be like you.”

“Do you know what I heard just then?” Peter grinned knowingly, as if he had just discovered something about Stiles that Stiles didn’t know about himself. “Your heart beating slightly over the words _‘I don’t want.’_ ”

“So?” What did his heartbeat have to do with anything?

“You may believe that you’re telling me the truth, Stiles, but you’re lying to yourself.” Peter said pityingly. “Goodbye, Stiles.”

“Something tells me I shouldn’t let you out of my sight.” There was nothing Stiles trusted more than his own instincts, and at the moment, they were setting off all kinds of alarms.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back at your side before you know it.” The alpha assured him as he turned on his heels to walk away. “By the way, I can smell your arousal.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” For fuck sake, he was a teenage boy. He couldn’t help what his body was attracted to, only what he did about it. “It’s a fear boner.”

“I don’t smell an ounce of fear on you.” Peter flashed him a smirk over his shoulder. “If you weren’t so young, I might do something about it.”

“Dude, gross.” Stiles misguided arousal was not an invitation for Peter to do anything. “My dick likes you, I don’t.”

“That’s a shame or a godsend, depending on how you look at it.” The wolf sighed. “I’ll see you soon, Stiles.”

“Beat it, creeper.”

* * *

 

Jax had never feared elevators until he and Dean got on the one that took them up to Derek’s loft. It was a janky old thing, it shook and creaked, the door didn’t close all the way, and it felt like the cables of the pulley might snap at any moment. The goddamn thing was a death trap from hell.

“Shit.” He smacked a steadying hand on the wall. “You know, I don’t consider myself high maintenance—“

“You’d be the only one.” Dean commented as he latched on to Jax’s arm to keep himself upright when the lift lurched precariously.

“I don’t need things to be in perfect working order, up to code or anything,” Jax carried on. “But this place is an absolute shithole. I mean, I know my place isn’t the nicest in the world, but at least it won’t end up killing us.”

“Yeah, you hope.” Dean screeched when the elevator squealed to a stop. “Yeah, Derek could have found a better place to call home. To make matters worse, he didn’t just buy the loft, he bought the entire freaking building.”

“How the hell did he manage that?” The kid had lived in squalor when he returned to Beacon Hills, Jax couldn’t imagine he had much money in the bank.

“Apparently, he’s loaded.” The hunter mentioned as they stepped off the elevator into the loft.

Bobby was standing beside the desk at the far end of the apartment, loading his shotgun. There was a stockpile of weapons laid out on the table, all shining as if they were freshly cleaned and primed. The elder hunter was preparing for war.

“Any news, Bobby?” Dean questioned as they made their way across the room. “Has Derek made contact or is he still MIA?”

“He and Peter haven’t checked in. I don’t expect Peter too, but Derek….” Bobby shook his head and set the rifle down. “I know something’s happened to him.”

“Parents intuition?” Jax proposed. “You think the Argents went on attack again?”

“Who else would hurt him? Then there’s these,” The hunter removed a handful of shell casings from his pocket and dropped them on the table. “When I went to search the house this morning, I found those.”

“This is there symbol,” Dean scrutinized the design etched into the casing. “Blood at the scene?”

“No.” Relief seeped into Bobby’s tone. “If they were shooting, he was there. He’s not there now, and there’s no body. They must have taken him.”

“Taken him where?” Jax inquired, glancing between the hunters. “Their own house?”

“No, they wouldn’t risk their innocent little girl walking in on something they’re not ready for her to see.” Bobby acknowledged caustically.

“That chick has to be the least perceptive person on the planet,” Dean remarked critically. “How do you grow up in a house full of hunters and not realize what they are? Sam was eight when he started picking up on things.”

“She’s an idiot.” Jax figured she was either daft or willfully ignorant to what was going on around her. “I don’t think she’ll be at her house tonight, though. She’s supposed to go to the dance Stiles is going to. If she’s gone, her family won’t have to worry about her walking in on anything.”

“Stiles isn’t going to any dance, he convinced Sam to go in his place. Sam told me as much when I talked to him before you two showed up.” Bobby divulged, pulling another gun from his duffle bag. “With Peter on the loose, Sam thought he should keep an eye on the things at the school in case he showed up looking to expand his pack.”

“That’s a good idea. The last thing this town needs is a bunch of teenage werewolves running around.” Dean surmised. “Stiles and Derek have gotten pretty tight. Since his evening is freed up—“

“No.” Jax shut that down before Dean could get any ideas about his little brother. “I don’t care if he’s friends with Derek or any other werewolf. I will not put him in danger, and where the Argents are concerned, there is always trouble.”

“That’s for damn sure.” Bobby checked the clip of the pistol in his hands and cast it aside with the others. “And I agree, we keep Stiles out of it. I do think we should call Sheriff Stilinski.”

“No.” It seemed Jax would be saying that word a lot in regards to the Stilinski side of his family. “Stiles would throw a fit, and by fit, I mean a violent rage.”

“I respect the boy’s protectiveness of his father,” Bobby said indulgently. “But Stilinski is the sheriff of this town and needs to know what’s going on.”

“We all know what happens to the Argents when we find them.” Jax was under no illusion that there would be a peaceful resolution to the ongoing conflict. “You call Sheriff Stilinski and you’ll be confessing to murders you haven’t committed yet. John’s not like Unser, he’s not gonna look the other way or clean up the mess we leave behind to keep us all out of prison.”

“He might look the other way for you,” Dean retorted blithely. “You being his son’s brother and all. He wouldn’t hurt Stiles by throwing you in jail.”

“He wouldn’t want to, but Stiles would make him. Going against everything he felt was right would hurt John, and Stiles wouldn’t allow that.” Just as his baby brother was sure he would put the club above all else in his life, Jax was certain Stiles would do the same for his father. “Do you really wanna put either of them in the position to make a choice like that?”

“I suppose not.” Bobby admitted sullenly. “It’s just the three of us, then.”

“The Argents have Derek, we know that for sure.” Dean brought the conversation back around to the problem at hand. “We’ll follow them, track them. We’ll let them lead us right to him.”

* * *

 

Sam wasn’t a novice when it came to dances, he attended his senior prom, enjoyed it even. Jess had dragged him out to a few dance clubs in their years together. They’d spent the night in a crowd of people, losing themselves in the music. However, he was unaccustomed to sitting around while everyone was having a good time, especially when he was accompanied by a pretty girl.

He would take solace in the fact that the evening going to shit was not his fault, that honor belonged to his date. Lydia had been snide and snooty the entire night. She hadn’t spoken a word to him beyond an order to fetch her a glass of punch. After spending a few hours with her, Sam decided he was done playing nice.

“I’m sorry if your evening isn’t going as you hoped it would, that your ex is so focused on his date that he’s barely noticed you.” Sam was banking on the girl being more receptive to the sharpness and sarcasm in his voice than she was to his gentlemanly behavior.

They had run into her dreaded ex in parking lot when they arrived. Lydia had been kind enough to compliment her former beau’s tux, and all Jackson had done in return was stick his nose up at her.

“I don’t care about Jackson or who has his attention.” The redhead sneered. “You didn’t have to put it quite that way, as if it says something about my person when a _boy_ doesn’t notice me.”

“I don’t think who you are as a person matters much to you or him.” Sam had picked up on that while observing her attitude toward him and any other poor soul who crossed her path. “You’re both snobs who believe everyone else is beneath you. You treat people like dirt and expect them to thank you for it and treat you like royalty.”

“Excuse me?” Lydia stiffened in shock at his words. “What exactly do you think you know about me?”

“Just what Stiles has told me. You see, he used to think you were as smart as him, if not a little smarter. You kept your intelligence a secret to remain at the top of the social food chain, which made you an idiot by proxy.” Sam would be lying if he said he didn’t agree with the younger man’s opinion of the girl. “He changed his stance on you since the incident with the molotov cocktail and the angry dog, now he’s certain you’re just a moron.”

“Stiles thinks he’s smarter than me? As if he could possibly have anywhere near my level of intellect.” The girl scoffed at the insinuation. “What a pompous ass.”

“He’s taking classes at the community college. He’s already filling out early admission forms for universities.” Sam had assisted Stiles in filling out some of those forms at the beginning of winter break. “ _Ivy league_ universities.”

“Well, it’s easy to take extra classes when you don’t have a social life to keep up with.” And as they all knew, friends and parties were far more important to ones future than a good education. “I could get early admission without taking mediocre courses from a community college.”

“I doubt that.” Maybe if her father wrote a nice big check to a university willing to cash it. “I can’t imagine how low you’ve let your GPA drop so your boyfriend doesn’t pick up on the fact that you are smarter than him. How many tests have you purposefully failed because Jackson was looking over your shoulder to cheat off you? How important is it to you that he never finds out you have a brain or opinions that go beyond which shade of lipstick matches your overpriced heels?”

“Why does it matter to you?” She asked, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“It doesn’t.” He was just curious as to where her line was. Did she even have a limit when it came to how far she would allow herself to fall for a tawdry high school romance? “I have to agree with Stiles on that front, too. Pretending to be less than what you are for someone else’s benefit is not in any way attractive.”

“Oh, you find me plenty attractive.” She said confidently, a saucy smirk spread across her lips. “You wouldn’t be asking so many questions about why I do what I do, if you didn’t find me intriguing. As for Stiles, he’s in love with me.”

“He’s really not.” Sam snorted at the thought of it. “If he was, don’t you think he would have jumped at the chance to escort you to this dance, instead of pawning you off on me?”

“He was too nervous.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Stiles be nervous about anything.” He had witnessed the kid be anxious to the point of a nervous breakdown, but never just plain old nervous. “Does it bother you that someone so low on the social and economic ladder doesn’t like you the way you thought he did?”

“Of course not.” She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Why would it?”

“You care so much about your popularity and where you stand in this school,” All which would become worthless come graduation day. “Learning the geeks and nerds don’t worship the ground you walk on must bruise your ego.”

“I don’t care what immature high school boys thank of me.” She pointedly flicked a lock of hair off her shoulder. “I am so done with—“

“ _High school boys._ ” He could swear those exact words had been uttered by an uppity young woman, recently burned by their first love, in every single television show marketed to teenagers. “I hate to break it to you, but college boys aren’t any better, just more hungover.”

“And what would you know about college?” She questioned, arching her brow. “You clean up nice and you talk as if you’ve got at least half a brain, but I doubt you graduated high school.”

“I went to Stanford.” He still held out hope that one day he would go back and finish his degree. “I got a 174 on my LSATs.”

“That’s impressive.” The mischievous gleam in her eyes told him she could not leave his accomplishment with only praise. “I could have done better.”

“Maybe, if you had the time to study properly.” He didn’t care how smart she thought she was, if she didn’t put in the effort, she would end up nowhere. “If you weren’t too busy showing drunk frat boys how you can tie a cherry stem with your tongue.”

“You don’t think very much of me, do you?” She almost seemed disappointed when that realization sunk in.

“You haven’t given me much to think about.” To be fair, he had only really seen one side of her. “I think there’s more to you than this snobby, clichéd, mean-girl persona you put on. There could be an intelligent, opinionated, strong-willed young woman hiding beneath the pretty face. Maybe you’ll let me or someone else see her one day.”

“Maybe.” She murmured, peering over his shoulder to track the movement on the dance floor. “Allison and Scott are trying to sneak out together. I don’t see Jackson. He’s probably upset that Allison would ditch him for someone like Scott. I should go find him, make sure he’s okay.”

“All right.” He wasn’t surprised she would use the opportunity to win back her beau. “I’ll wait here in case he’s left, so you’ll have a ride home.”

“Thank you.” She said sincerely as she stood from her chair and straightened her dress. “And for the record, I can tie a cherry stem with tongue.”

“So can I.” It was just one of his many talents.

“A man good with his tongue, I’ll have to remember that.”

“Go find your boyfriend.” Sam waved her off before he said something a grown man should never say to a teenage girl. “He doesn’t deserve you, but good luck anyway.”

“Thank you.” She leaned down to press her lips to his cheek. “I’ll come back in to let you know if Jackson and I are leaving together, so you’re not waiting all night.”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t until his date had walked off that Sam began feeling wholly out of place at the formal. There was something unsettling about the strobe lights, randomly hung translucent curtains, and impressively stalked bar—complete with a bartender pouring something from a cocktail shaker into a martini glass. It all seemed more suited for a dance club than a school dance.

“Things have definitely changed since I was in high school.”

The one prom he had attended was not so extravagant. They had a punch bowl and one or two platters of cheese and crackers set on a folding table, not a circular bar with an LED lit top, serving what he hoped were virgin drinks. In place of the see-through curtains, his prom had cheap streamers and balloons. At least the music hadn’t changed much, it was all top-20 hits played on repeat, a few golden oldies for the chaperones, and one racy song for the kids to gyrate to before the principal shut it off.

It was all a little too peculiar for his liking. If he hadn’t promised Bobby he would stick around to keep an eye on things, he might bolt. Of course, there was also Lydia to think about, he’d told her he would wait in case things didn’t work out with Jackson. Seeing as her ex was currently walking back into the gym sans the redhead, Sam couldn’t imagine things went well.

He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he got up from the table and marched over to the teenager. Jackson’s face was pale, slick with sweat, as if he’d just run a mile or had a fright, things that normally didn’t happen at school dances.

“Did Lydia ever find you?” Sam didn’t waste time with introductions, assuming the kid would recognize him from their earlier interaction in the parking lot.

“N-No.” Jackson stammered, his agitation growing by the second. “I haven’t seen her.”

“What’s wrong with you?” He couldn’t possibly be in such a state because he was ditched by his date. There had to be something else going on. “I’m a friend of Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale, if it helps.”

“I was out behind the school, and I…I was out….” The teenager stuttered as he tried to find his words. “Allison’s dad and a few other men came out of the woods, with guns. Big guns. I think they’re after something, they tracked it here.”

“No, not here.” Hunters wouldn’t risk the crowd of students, and Sam didn’t think Peter, if he was the one being tracked, was looking for a bloodbath. “Outside. It’s outside where Lydia went to look for you!”

“The lacrosse field.” Jackson blurted out as if it made some kind of sense. “That’s where I would go. That is where she would look for me.”

“Show me. Show me where it is.”

* * *

 

Stiles had spent more of his day than he would have liked trekking through the preserve. The sun had set long ago, taking any warmth with it. If it weren’t for the exertion of his hike, he just might have frozen to the bone. Neither the cold nor his ailments, his running nose and struggled breaths, were enough to stop him from continuing on with his mission.

Scouring the woods for Derek was a long, tedious, stressful task. He started at the Hale house and worked his way out. He would walk for a few miles, scanning the surrounding area for any abnormalities, and then return to the house to begin his search in another direction. So far, he had not found a thing that would lead him to his missing comrade.

When he made it back to the Hale house for what felt like the hundredth time, he decided to take a short break. He rested against a support column on the front porch and inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath, and wishing like hell he’d brought a bottled water with him. He cursed Peter for delegating the preserve to him when he realized his entire search was pointless. His puny human senses were no match for whatever a werewolf could find.

Honestly, he was ready to throw in the towel and admit defeat. He could easily climb into his Jeep, drive off to find Bobby, and apologize profusely for his failure. The only thing to stop him was the sudden sound of a piercing howl reverberating through the woods.

“Holy shit.” He whispered to himself as his eyes darted wildly across the tree line, half expecting the beast responsible to attack at any moment.

It took him a second to recognize the howl, it was nearly identical to the one Scott had emitted to draw out the alpha. The howl that answered it, however, was someone else entirely. It was twice as loud, deeper, and was both strong and weak at the same time, as if the wolf it belonged to was in some kind of pain.

“Derek.”

Stiles took off a like a shot in the direction the noise came from. It was difficult to determine an exact point of origin, but he was able to narrow it down to general location. The echoes of the howls led him three miles east of the house, down a small slope, to the opening of a dark tunnel.

He wished belatedly that he’d brought a proper flashlight as he snuck through the pitch black corridor. He had been using his phone as a makeshift torch during his search of preserve, but it had long since gone dead. Without any source of light to brighten his path, he was forced to rely on the noisy whir of a generator to lead him through the tunnel.

Half way down the corridor he came upon a large steel door that was left ajar, giving him full view of what was going on inside, of Derek and Kate. Derek was standing upright, his arms lifted above his head, shackled to thick iron beams. He had been stripped of his shirt, and in its place was a bundle of wires taped to his side. Stiles followed the wires back to their starting point, the generator, meaning they were definitely live.

Kate was off to the side, standing next to a table that held Derek’s leather jacket, and an assortment of other items, hunter tools of trade, including her cherished stun gun baton. She had her back to the wolf, looking bored out of her skull as she inspected the cellphone in her hands.

“All right, let’s see. Nothing, nothing, nothing.” She sighed as she scrolled through the phone. “God, I hate this detective crap.”

“Are you gonna torture me, or are you just gonna talk me to death?” Derek asked through gritted teeth. “Huh?”

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t want to torture you.” She smiled sweetly, dropped the phone back to the table, and turned around to face the wolf. “I just want to catch up. Remember all the fun we had together?”

“Like the time you burned my family alive?” Derek glared daggers at the woman, his expression one of someone who would tear apart the next person who got too close.

“No, I was thinking more about the hot, crazy sex we had.” She sauntered over to her captive, pinning her body against his. “But the fire thing, yeah, that was fun too.”

If she was hoping for a reaction, she got one. Derek lunged forward, snapping his jaws, fully prepared to rip her throat out and bathe in her blood, only to be held back by his restraints. Kate laughed at the wolf’s failure, standing up on her tiptoes to cackle delightfully in his face.

“I love how much you hate me.” She moaned against Derek’s lips. “Remember how this felt?”

Stiles shuddered in disgust as he watched her lean down and drag her tongue across Derek’s skin, licking her way up from his lower abdomen to his torso. The wolf pulled at his bonds, trying uselessly to buck her off his body, which only egged her on more. Derek’s face was void of any emotion that wasn’t unequivocal rage, but there was a hollow, dead look in his eyes that Stiles recognized instantly from seeing them in the mirror.

It was all too familiar. It sent Stiles back to a time when he was the one held down, unable to push away the evil woman who had straddled his hips, and ground her pelvis against his. He hadn’t been strong like Derek was trying so hard to be. He’d been too small, too weak to fight back. All he could do was close his eyes and cry as she forced his body to do things he was too young to understand.

He couldn’t save himself, not then. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he could manage it now if she reappeared in his life. He was confident, though, that he could save Derek, or try to, at least. He could prevent the wolf from being violated, could stop Kate from taking something Derek wasn’t willing to give.

With that in mind, Stiles slid through the narrow opening of the door, keeping his footsteps light, so not to make any noise that might alert Kate to his presence. If Derek spotted him, caught his scent, he didn’t let it show. Stiles was able to creep into the room without giving himself away.

He debated the merits of just shooting her in the back. It would simplify rescuing Derek, but that was about all the good it would do. In the end, killing her would just spur on her family’s bloodlust, and put more people in danger. Shooting her just wasn’t worth the trouble it would bring.

He shifted his pistol into his non-dominant hand, unwillingly to holster it just yet. With his free hand, he carefully slid Kate’s stun gun baton off the table, thankfully without knocking anything else off it. The sound of the generators motor masked the weapon’s buzz when he switched it on.

Derek’s eyes flickered to him briefly, as he stepped behind Kate. If the huntress noticed she had lost her captives focus, she didn’t have a chance to chide him for it. Stiles pushed the stun gun against her side roughly, causing her to fall to the ground, her body convulsing from the shock.

“Guess the voltage was set to bring down a werewolf,” He tossed the stun gun across the room, far out of her reach. “You’re lucky that much electricity coursing through you didn’t stop your heart. I don’t think a second hit would do you any favors, so I wouldn’t move, if I were you.”

“Oh, wow,” Kate chuckled condescendingly as she continued to spasm. “I’m being threatened by a _child_.”

“I wouldn’t really call it a threat.” They were beyond threats now. “So, torching houses, killing families, and abusing teenagers, that’s your shtick, huh?”

“I’ve never abused anyone.” The huntress claimed as she rolled onto her side in an attempt to climb to her feet.

“Stiles, get me out of these.” Derek yanked at the chains. “Now.”

“You just called me a child.” Stiles ignored the wolf in favor of setting the record straight on a few things. “Derek was the same age I am now when you killed his family. I’m guessing that’s when you two were having that ‘hot, crazy sex’ you were talking about. Sex with a _child_ is never consensual.”

“Oh, give me a break.” Kate snorted in disbelief. “It’s not like I raped him. He wanted it.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before too.” Stiles leveled his gun with her forehead. “It wasn’t true then, either.”

_“No, I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t hurt him. I love him. I was just showing him how much I loved him. H-He loves me too.” Her breath hitched as she fixed Stiles with a pleading look. “Don’t you, Mieczysław? Tell them. Tell them that you love me, that you wanted me too.”_

_“I didn’t.” Tears poured from his eyes as he fought to not to cower under her stare. “I didn’t want it.”_

_“Yes, you did. You wanted it. You wanted me. We wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t.”_

_“No.” He cried, clapping his hands over his ears so he didn’t have to hear anymore of her lies. “I didn’t want it. I didn’t want it….”_

Stiles blinked rapidly to rid himself of the memory, if only to stop his mind from morphing Kate’s face into _her_ face, as it had begun to. His finger twitched on the trigger of the gun, he itched to pull it, to splatter her brains across the concrete floor and be done with it all. Objectively, he knew he wouldn’t be killing who he really wanted dead, his mind was only playing tricks on him, but the woman on the ground was just as evil, if not more so.

“Stiles,” Derek’s surprisingly cautious voice sounded a million miles away rather than just the few short feet it really was. “Stiles, I need you to unchain me. Now.”

“Oh, sweetie, if you’re counting on this kid to save you, you’re shit out of luck.” Kate chortled manically as she tried for a second time to regain control of her limbs enough to pull herself up from the floor. “He’s fucked in the head. He’s won’t do anything.”

It was a challenge if Stiles had ever heard one, and probably not one she expect him to rise to. It wasn’t her fault, really, how was she to know he had an underlying need to prove people wrong? Fucked in the head or not, he always finished a job he started. He was also a crack shot, a talent very few people were aware of, and something she was about to learn.

He jerked the gun away from her and toward Derek, firing two shots in succession. He hit his marks with excellent precision, fracturing the metal ring fasteners on the chains, separating them from the cuffs around Derek’s wrists, freeing the wolf from where they held him against the wall.

“You were saying?” Stiles wasted no time shifting the gun back to the huntress.

 _“Derek!”_ Scott’s panic laden roar rang through the tunnels. “ _Derek!”_

It was a good thing the threat was at least partially neutralized, because the younger wolf slammed into the room with little regard for who saw or heard him. There was honest relief on Scott’s face when he saw Derek was all right, yet it was Stiles position that brought him to a standstill.

“What are you doing?” Scott glanced between he and Kate. “Stiles, what is this? Why do you have a gun?”

“He’s here for me.” Derek answered for him as he tore the shackles from his wrists, and ripped the patch of wires off his side. “It would be stupid to come in unarmed. It’s not like he used it.”

“I heard shots.” Scott called the wolf out on what he believed was a lie.

“Do you see any bodies or blood?” Derek asked, scowling as he pulled on his shirt and jacket.

“It’s cute listening to you boys bicker.” Kate commented when she finally managed to make it to her feet. “But if you keep it up, I’ll gag.”

“You stay right there,” Stiles ordered, keeping his pistol trained on her. “Scott, call my dad and tell him where we are. Kate Argent is going to be tomorrows headline for the kidnapping and torture of Derek Hale, and her connection to the Hale fire.”

 _“Aunt Kate! Aunt Kate, you were right!”_ Allison’s shrill voice echoed around them, announcing her presence to the shit show. _“You were right about werewolves! One attacked Lydia! And Scott…Scott is one of them!”_

“You’ll have to forgive my niece,” Kate said with a long-suffering sigh. “She’s slow on the uptake.”

“I noticed.” Stiles reported as the girl in question joined them. “She has to be if she didn’t see that you’re bat-shit insane.”

“Oh my god!” Allison rushed to her aunt’s side, her frightened gaze locked on Stiles weapon. “W-What are you doing?”

“Rescuing the damsel in distress.” Stiles deadpanned, gesturing to Derek. “Now, we’re all gonna be quiet, and wait for my dad to get here. Scott, I don’t hear you on the phone. What’s the hold up?”

“Maybe…maybe we should just go.” Scott moved in front of him, successfully blocking the Argent women from his line of fire. “Nobody’s hurt. Let’s call it a draw.”

“You think letting Kate go is going to convince Allison to jump back in bed with you?” Other than getting back on Allison’s good graces, Stiles couldn’t think of a single reason why Scott would suggest a murderer go free. “It won’t work, Scotty. She knows what you are. She thinks you’re a monster. Your little Romeo & Juliet romance is over. It’s time to stop thinking with your dick and start thinking about survival. Kate goes to jail, where she belongs, and there will be one less psycho out to kill you.”

“Stiles,” Derek stepped beside him, whispering in his ear in an effort to keep the conversation private. “I can hear my dad’s car and the Impala pulling up to my house. We can let them think we are letting them go. We’ll leave them here and head up to the house. Kate’s not going to let me get far.”

“I got it.” They would meet up with their reinforcements and lead the girls into an ambush. “Scott, you’re getting your wish. We’re leaving. Come on.”

The three of them slowly backed out of the room, keeping their eyes on the ladies as they moved into the hall. Derek slid the steel door shut with a harsh _thud_ , creating a barrier between the hunters and the hunted.

“Padlock,” Stiles holstered his gun and snatched the lock from where it had been discarded on the floor. “This should give us enough time for a head start.”

“No!” Scott protested, making a grab for the lock. “They’ll have no way out! We can’t trap them.”

“There’s a crowbar on the table in there. They can pry the door open.” Derek shouldered Scott out of the way and took the lock for himself, fixing it in place on the door. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Washing blood off his hands was never easy, especially when it belonged to an innocent girl he was supposed to protect.

“I shouldn’t have let her go off alone. Damn it.” Sam cursed himself as he dried his hands. “I should’ve been more careful.”

He tossed the crumpled paper towel in the trash bin before biting the bullet and exiting the hospital restroom. He wandered down the long hall until he came upon Sheriff Stilinski standing outside Lydia’s room. After being thoroughly reamed out by Mr. and Mrs. Martin, the older man looked as if he’d been through hell.

“How is she?” Sam asked timidly, glancing through the viewing window to look in on his date. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“The doctor’s think she’ll pull through.” John murmured tersely. “Did you see what did this? I know Bobby has the alpha—Peter— locked up, so it couldn’t be him. Do we have another rogue on our hands?”

“Peter escaped sometime this morning, while Bobby was out looking for Derek.” Hindsight, they should have shared that information sooner. “He did this. He bit Lydia.”

“Did you…take care of him?” Stilinski questioned, rubbing beads of sweat from his brow. “Or maybe the less I know about it, the better.”

“I didn’t have a chance to do anything. He was gone before I got to her.” All Sam had seen was a glimpse of Peter retreating deep into the woods behind the lacrosse field. “I don’t think his intention was to kill her. He wanted to turn her.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?” The older man grumbled. “Where is everyone else?”

“Bobby, Dean, and Jax were following Chris, hoping he would lead them to Derek.” It hadn’t been a successful endeavor, from what Sam had heard. “Now they’re following Allison.”

“Why her?”

“She got sort of a wakeup call at the dance. She found out about Scott being a werewolf after her dad and his friends tried to run him over in the school parking lot. Then she learned her best friend was bitten by one.” It was a lot for anyone to take in. “She was here, checking on Lydia, but now she’s gone. She didn’t go home, Dean and Jax were staking out the house. Bobby picked her up heading to the preserve.”

“And since her dad is still here,” Stilinski subtly nodded to the hunter standing with a group of men at the other end of the hall. “She’s probably going to meet her aunt Kate, who more than likely has Derek. Follow her, find Derek.”

“Pretty much.”

“My question is, why is Chris Argent still here?” Stilinski’s brows knitted together in a frown. “Is he waiting for Lydia to turn so he can kill her?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Sam wouldn’t put anything past the Argents. “Have you interviewed him about the Hale fire since you reopened the investigation?”

“Not yet. I wanted to gather all the evidence I could before I confronted the family.” The sheriff explained. “Why?”

“I don’t think Chris is a good man or a good hunter, but I don’t think he’d condone burning an entire family alive either.” It took a special kind of evil that Sam was not sure that particular Argent possessed. “And if he knew his sister was responsible for the fire, would he really let his daughter anywhere near her? I mean, would you if it were Stiles?”

“My son has spent every summer since he was two in a clubhouse of a violent, outlaw biker gang, where he was exposed to drugs, alcohol, sex, and god knows what else.” John cringed at the thought of what his son had seen as a child. “So, I’m probably not the best person to ask.”

“Yeah, probably.” He hated to agree when he’d always thought of the sheriff as a good father, but allowing Stiles to be exposed to the clubs lifestyle at such a young age was definitely a mark against him. “The point is, maybe Chris has no idea his sister killed the Hales.”

“And you want to tell him.”

“If he knew, he might rein her in, stop her from hurting anyone else.” If anyone could get through to Kate, it had to be her brother, right?

“If he doesn’t know, if he didn’t have anything to with the fire, and he didn’t authorize it, then where does his obsession with Derek Hale come from?” Stilinski asked, watching the other hunter out of the corner of his eye. “He was the one out there harassing Derek before Kate came back to town.”

“Like I said, he’s not a good guy. He will torture and torment a non-violent werewolf until it snaps and gives him a reason to kill it.” It was a way of hunting that was condemned by the majority of the hunting community. “I just don’t think he has it in him to kill an entire family, to burn little kids like the ones who died in that fire.”

“If you think him knowing what his sister did could help, then tell him.” Sheriff Stilinski urged him. “But if you’re wrong and he has known this entire time, then you’ll be showing your cards. If he thinks you have proof, then it will make you a threat to his family.”

“I can take care of myself.” He wasn’t afraid of the Argents. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“Okay. I’ve got to finish up things here.” The older man motioned to Lydia’s room. “Then I was gonna go home to look in on Stiles before heading back to the station. I’ll be there if you need me.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

They kept a safe distance when tracking Allison to the preserve, staying far enough behind that she didn’t notice she was being followed. They only lost her after she’d taken a sharp turn down an old forest trail. They doubled back to take the turn themselves and found her car a mile down the road, without her in it. They assumed she set off on foot to the Hale house, it being the only thing within walking distance, and decided to beat her there. Jax wasn’t expecting to find his little brother’s Jeep already parked outside the house when they arrived.

“What the hell is he doing here?” The kid should have been at home, in bed, not traipsing through the woods in the middle of the night.

“Engine’s cold.” Dean noted, touching his palm to the Jeep’s hood. “It’s been here a while.”

“The house is empty.” Bobby revealed, stepping off the front porch. “No one’s here.”

“Where the hell else could they be?” The preserve was hundreds of acres, there had to be quite a few hiding places. “Bobby, your kid grew up here. Did he ever mention an area hunters liked to gather out here? A large cave or something?”

“Your brother grew up here too, Jax.” Bobby countered. “He ever mention anything like that?”

“No.” To be fair, Stiles had no reason to think hunters would be patrolling the forest. “We can call John, have him track Stiles phone.”

“That’ll help us find Stiles.” Dean acknowledged. “We’re still flying blind on Derek.”

“Shut up, both of ya.” Bobby snapped, his gaze peeled on the tree line. “Hear that?”

Jax inclined his head and strained to listen for whatever Bobby was referring to. Underneath the usual sounds of the forest, was the crunch of leaves being walked on and tree branches breaking beneath a heavy step.

“It’s the boys,” Bobby sighed in relief as three figures jogged out of the woods and into the clearing. “Thank god.”

As his baby brother made his way toward him, Jax was torn between checking to see if he was okay and wanting to ring his neck. Since the kid didn’t appear any worse for wear, Jax decided on the latter.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?” He asked as soon as his brother was close enough to hear him. “You’re supposed to be at home resting.”

“I was recruited to find Bobby’s lost pup.” Stiles mumbled hoarsely through a nasty sounding cough. “I would much rather be in bed.”

“Recruited by who?” Dean asked as he gave each of the kids a quick once-over to ensure they were unharmed.

“Peter. He cornered me at the school.” Stiles replied as he tugged on the sleeve of Jax’s hoodie. “Gimme. I’m freezing.”

“Take it.” Jax shrugged out of the fabric and handed over, then proceeded to gently smack a hand to Stiles sweat-slicked forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Derek, you all right, son?” Bobby cupped a hand to his son’s cheek. “You’re pale. They get you with wolfsbane again?”

“No, it was just electric shocks this time.” The wolf shook off his father’s touch. “I’ll be fine.”

“We need to get out of here.” Scott glanced over his shoulder to where they’d just come from. “Before they make it out of the tunnels.”

“Who?”

“Kate and Allison.” Derek muttered darkly. “Kate is the one who had me. She’s not gonna be happy when she finds us.”

“You’re damn right about that.” The huntress’s voice called through the trees.

The Argent women stood on the edge of the Hale property, Allison armed with her bow and Kate with a pistol. Derek whipped around to face his enemies, and took an arrow to the shoulder for the effort. Luckily, Bobby and Dean were there to catch him when he fell back into their arms.

“Nice shot, sweetie.” Kate praised her niece. “Now lover boy.”

“She didn’t have a bow in the tunnels.” Stiles said placidly. “I would’ve seen that. It stands out.”

“She must have had it in the trunk of her car.” Scott theorized as the women stalked toward them.

“Get back.” Jax pushed Stiles behind him. “You stay there. You stay behind me.”

“Finish it, Allison.” Kate instructed the girl. “Or I’ll kill him myself.”

“You said we were only going to capture them.” Allison hesitated, unable to bring herself to harm Scott the way her aunt wanted her to.

“Oh no, I know that look,” Kate shook her head and aimed her gun at Scott. “That’s the ‘ _you’re gonna have to do it yourself’_ look.”

“Shit.” Jax reached out and snagged the hood of Scott’s sweater, yanking him back, out of the woman’s crosshairs. “That’s the only save you’ll get from me. Do yourself a favor and stay down.”

“I’m not here for you, pretty boy.” Kate waved her gun at him. “I just want the mutt.”

“Sorry, darlin.” As much as Jax was sure he’d regret it, he just couldn’t hand the idiot over. “Can’t do that. I will give you a chance to point that gun in a different direction. I don’t appreciate them being pointed in the vicinity of my little brother.”

“Your little brother tasered me.” Kate scowled at the kid. “With my own stun gun.”

“You shouldn’t have left it lying around.” Stiles reasoned with a shrug of his shoulders. “I should have shot you.”

“I concur.” Derek grunted as Dean pulled the arrow out of his arm. “Shit.”

“You’re okay.” Dean hauled the wolf up to his feet. “Walk it off.”

“He’s not walking anywhere.” Kate barked, her temper flaring over their lack of compliance. “Neither is Scott.”

“Kate!” Chris shouted as he stomped up from a barely visible dirt path, Sam hot on his heels.

“What is it with you people and the walking through the woods? We’ve got cars for a reason, people.” Jax admonished the hunters. “No wonder it takes you so long to wrap up a job. You rely too much on the sneak attack and none of you are any good at it.”

“Not the time, Jackson.” Dean chastised him.

“I know what you did, Kate.” Chris focused his gun and his attention on his sister. “Put your weapon down.”

“I did what I was told to do.” Kate claimed, trying to justify her actions.

“No one asked you to murder innocent people.” Chris refuted her statement. “There were children in that house, ones who were human.”

“You only care that she killed an entire family, because there were _human_ children inside?” Dean didn’t mince words when addressing the other hunter. “If it were only werewolf children, you would have been totally okay with what she’d done. You probably would have high-fived little sis for a job well done.”

“Dean, don’t.” Sam warned, moving around Chris to join them at the Impala. “He can talk her down. Let him do it.”

“Maybe while he’s doing that, one of us should be getting these kids out of here.” Jax suggested, not wanting his baby brother anywhere near the situation. “Sam, you can drive Stiles, Derek, and Scott back to town.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Allison.” Scott stubbornly dug in his heels.

“You’re not going anywhere at all.” Kate reminded the wolf.

“Look at what you’re doing now, Kate. You’re holding a gun at a sixteen-year old boy with no proof he spilled human blood.” Chris said, as if his family ever waited for proof before they killed those they found unworthy of life. “We go by a code. We hunt those who hunt us.”

“Whether Mr. Argent can talk her down is irrelevant. It doesn’t change what has to happen.” Stiles remarked coldly. “If we let her go, she’ll never stop coming for Derek. She’ll forget about Scott eventually, but not Derek. He’s special to her. She won’t stop until she kills him. If you want him to survive, then she doesn’t get to live.”

“Right you are, Stiles.” A sanguine voice growled in their ears as a rush of wind blasted past them.

Jax grabbed for his brother, wrapping an arm around him to keep him close and prevent anyone or anything from snatching him away when an unknown force joined the festivities. It was fast, nothing but a blur as it circled he group, reminding Jax of a superhero in the comics he used to read as child.

“It’s okay.” Stiles relaxed into his hold. “It’s only Peter.”

* * *

 

Peter took the upper hand, took control, by putting his enemies and grudging allies off the balance. He made laps around the group at top speed in his alpha form, had them twisting and turning until they couldn’t see straight. Their fear and apprehension permeated through the air as he shifted into his human form directly behind the huntress who had set his entire world ablaze for her own amusement.

“Hello, Kate.”

He didn’t give her a chance to face him, to defend herself. He went for her gun hand first, taking her wrist and crunching it between his fingers, making her cry out as her weapon clattered to the ground. He wrenched the same arm behind her, pulling her back until she was flush against him.

“The scent of your pain is delicious,” He breathed into her ear, grinning proudly as she tremored against him. “I’d love to prolong this, to really give you what you deserve, to make you suffer the way my family did, but I’m afraid we won’t have the time.”

“Peter!” Chris yelled at the alpha. “Let her go.”

“No. No. She doesn’t get to live.” Peter skated his fingers over the huntress’s neck, making her one final promise. “I’ll find you in hell and I’ll bleed you dry for an eternity.”

He dug his nails into the fragile skin of her throat and tore it open. Her warm blood soaked his hand, flowing down his arm as he let her slip from his grasp. He didn’t have the satisfaction of hearing her body hit the dirt floor of the forest, not when her niece was screaming loud enough to wake the devil.

“You didn’t…you didn’t have to do that!” Chris raged, pulling the hammer back on his gun. “You didn’t have to kill her!”

“Hey! Hey. Calm down, man.” Dean darted out in front of the other hunter. “Just relax. Nobody else has to get hurt today.”

“You’re going to protect _him_?” Chris balked at the idea of any hunter stepping in front of a gun for a werewolf. “He just killed my sister.”

“She killed his entire family without provocation. She kidnapped and tortured his nephew. She wasn’t going to stop until all the Hales were dead.” The older Winchester brother tried to put things in prospective for Argent. “Peter was protecting what’s left of his family. Protect yours by putting an end to this war and taking your daughter home.”

It was a good speech, it seemed to resonate with Chris, had the hunter lowering his gun, but it felt all wrong to Peter. Kate was dead, sure, but she was only a soldier in a much bigger war that wanted to end his family line and his species. The war started and ended with the Argents. It would never truly be over until one side, one of their families, was completely annihilated. While Chris may have been ready to call it a draw, Peter didn’t believe the rest of the Argent clan was.

He eyed the youngest of the brood out of the corner of his eye. She was on her knees, several feet from her aunt’s body, slowly inching away from her father and toward Scott. Her bow was still firmly lodged in her grip as if she thought it were some kind of lifeline, her salvation, perhaps. It told Peter all he needed to know about her and who she would be, thanks to her aunt’s interference.

Kate had already poisoned the girl, gotten inside her head, and taught her that inhuman things were not to be liked or feared, but eliminated. Kate used Allison to ensure the Argent legacy lived on the way she saw fit, brutally and unapologetically. Allison might not have been aware of it just yet, but she had the potential to be exactly like the woman she had grown up admiring.

Peter was stalking toward the girl before he even realized his feet were moving. He had to end it. Kate was no longer a threat, but her protégé was, and he could not let that stand, not while he still had family that needed protecting.

“Peter,” Derek growled a warning, as if sensing the decision Peter made. “Don’t. She’s not Kate.”

“She will be.”

Naturally, it was Scott who tried to stop him when he advanced on the young woman. The teenager stood in front of Allison, his lips drawn back in a snarl, looking about as threatening as a newborn pup. Derek didn’t bother with the posturing. He sunk his claws into Peter’s arm and threw him roughly across the yard.

If his nephew were anyone else, Peter would retaliate in the most vicious way. He would have shifted into his alpha form and ripped every limb from his body. Of course, Derek was not the enemy, and Peter had hurt him quite enough already without adding more bloodshed to the mix.

He let himself be tossed around, slammed to the ground, kicked, and punched, over and over again. He allowed Derek to take out six years worth of anger, guilt, and betrayal on him without lifting a finger to defend himself. As Derek delivered the beating, Peter wondered if his nephew even realized he wasn’t fighting back.

When Derek stood above him, arm raised back, claws on display, ready to slash his throat, Peter didn’t see the rage filled man Derek thought he was. No, he saw a sad little boy who was still unable to process his emotions, so he lashed out instead. Peter hadn’t expected anything less, his nephew hadn’t changed much since he was a child, only now his temper tantrums had given way to violent outbursts.

Truth be told, this was all a long time coming. His nephew had been through so much, he was bound to snap or buckle under the weight of his sorrows. It was only right that Peter be on the receiving end of his nephew's wrath, after all, he had caused him an unbearable amount of pain by taking his sister away. It was a sin that could never be forgiven or made right. He could only be punished for what he’d done to Laura. A life for a life.

He wasn’t afraid of death, in fact he welcomed it. He wasn’t sure if there was an afterlife, a heaven, if there was he wouldn’t make it there, but he believed he would get to see his wife and his boys before his soul was damned to hell. That’s all he needed, to be with them once more, if only for a moment.

“It’s all right, Derek. You can do it.” Peter spread his arms out over the dirt and let his body go lax in total surrender. “It’s okay. Do it.”

It was right that he met his end here, at his family home where he had been born and raised. It was where he’d been given his sons and had them taken away. It was a curse, he supposed, every Hale who had taken their first breath in that house, had also taken their last on the property, and Peter intended to follow that pattern.

“Please, Derek.”

He closed his eyes and let a peaceful feeling wash over him. He took a deep breath and waited for the feel of sharp claws to rip through his throat. However, it wasn’t his nephew who delivered his killing blow, but a bullet shot from across the lawn.

* * *

 

Derek stood frozen over his uncle’s lifeless body, not yet able to comprehend what had just transpired. His hands were clean, there was no trace of blood as there should have been. Peter’s throat remained intact, but there was a new hole in his temple, with blood sluggishly seeping from it.

He lifted his head to find the source of the shot, only to see his father holding the proverbial smoking gun.

“Why?” Derek had been ready to do what was asked of him, to do what he had to do to stop his uncle. He didn’t understand why his father hadn’t let him.

“So you didn’t have to,” The older man murmured sadly. “So you didn’t have to take the life of someone you loved.”

“Derek,” Stiles stepped out from around his brother. “Your eyes are red.”

“I’m the alpha.” With his mother, Laura, and now Peter gone, that title fell to him. “I’m the alpha now.”

“W-What? How?” Scott stuttered in confusion. “You didn’t kill Peter. How can you be the alpha?”

“All that power had to go somewhere.” His dad explained to the beta. “They were family. He inherited it.”

“Look, um, we should get all this cleaned up before it gets too late.” Dean placed a comforting hand on Derek’s shoulder. “You kids should go home. Let us handle it.”

“That’s my sister.” Chris nodded to Kate’s corpse. “I will take care of her.”

“You’ll take care of her here.” Bobby insisted in a tone that left no room for argument. “You’ll salt and burn her, like we do with our dead. I ain’t letting you take her to be buried without taking the proper precautions. We’re not letting her become a vengeful spirit or anything else.”

“Fine. I'll do it here.” Chris ceded without a fight. “Allison, you don’t need to see this.”

“I’ll take her home.” Scott volunteered.

“I brought my car. It’s parked on a trail down the hill.” Allison gestured toward the woods. “I will take you home, Scott.”

“I’ll take Stiles and Derek home in the Jeep.” Jax slipped his hand into Stiles pocket to retrieve the vehicles keys. “We’ll stick together. Hang out at the loft until you guys are done.”

“Go on, son.” Derek’s father ushered him over to the brothers. “You’ve done enough. You let me take care of Peter. Okay?”

“D-Don’t burn him.” Derek could not leave his uncle in his father’s care unless he was sure he wouldn’t be turned to ash. “Don’t burn him, please. I know it’s a hunter thing, but…he’s already burned once. I can’t let him burn again.”

“All right, son. I won’t burn him.” His father promised. “I’ll bury him. I will.”

“Thank you.”


	9. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Gif sets: [Make the Cut](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/156697852739/charming-wayward-sons-verse-make-the-cut), [Aren't My Type](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/157189493864/charming-wayward-sons-verse-you-arent-really), [Moral Compass](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/158306535169/charming-wayward-sons-verse-youre-my-moral)  
> Episodes: [SPN] 3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me

Stiles was fast asleep when John crept into his room late in the morning. He kept quiet in an effort not to disturb him and began gathering dirty laundry from around the room. Stiles was usually pretty good about keeping his space neat and tidy, but things had begun to slide since he’d been sick. There were soiled socks littering the floor, t-shirts piled on the desk chair, and pants hanging mostly out of the hamper. However, it was the sweaters piled around the bed that were his main focus.

Not one of the hoodies currently in Stiles possession belonged to him. The _Sons of Anarchy_ decals stenciled across the chest were evidence enough of whom he had stolen them from. Stiles had a bad habit of ‘borrowing’ and ‘forgetting’ to return sweaters that belonged to Jax and various club members.

At the moment, he was using the dozen or so he had pilfered recently as some kind of nest. There was obviously an order to the way he’d layered two beneath his head, shoved a handful under his body, draped a few over himself, and had one trapped between the bed frame and the mattress. And the sweaters were not the only thing Stiles was hoarding in his little nest.

“That’s my jacket.” His official ‘Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department’ windbreaker was peeking out from under the comforter. “Little thief.”

He shook his head at his son’s antics as he carefully began removing the top layer of hoodies from his son’s still form. The ones that weren’t soaked in sweat were stained with dried drool and snot. In other words, they were all in need of a good wash, thankfully that wasn’t his department, he was strictly on a retrieval and return mission.

“Why you taking my stuff?” Stiles mumbled sleepily as he rolled onto his back.

“It’s not really yours.” Although, he doubted that mattered to him. “It’s time for them to go back where they belong.”

“Already?”

“Yep. You’re getting your clothes back too.” They did the clothing exchange once a month. “That means you need to get up, buddy. We gotta head to Charming soon.”

“No….” That teenager pouted. “Wanna stay here.”

“I’m working the graveyard shift. I don’t want you to be alone tonight.” Call him overprotective, but the idea of leaving his kid alone for the night, after all the werewolf crap that had just gone down, sent icy spikes of anxiety up his spine. “You can stay with your brother, at least until I get off work.”

“No.” Stiles whined, burrowing deeper into his nest. “Don’t want to stay with Jax. He asks things I can’t answer.”

“Things about Dean?” John knew keeping that secret from Jax weighed heavily on his son’s soul, as did the other secrets Stiles kept. “Or things about you?”

“Both.” Stiles admitted sullenly. “And he gets all uptight when I’m sick, treats me like I’m dying.”

“You can’t really blame him for that, can you? After everything he went through with Thomas,” Every illness for the younger Teller had probably felt like the end of the world to his family. “He’s just afraid to lose another brother.”

“I know that, but the smallest hint of a sniffle from me and he goes into a tailspin. I end up taking care of him instead of myself.” Stiles said as he used a sleeve of one of the borrowed hoodies to blow his nose. “That’s fine when it’s just a small cold, but….I’m just so tired, Pop.”

“I know you are, buddy.” He caressed is fingers over his son’s buzzed hair. “You passed a simple cold after your night in the woods.”

“Had to help Derek.” The boy defended his actions from the previous week. “It was worth the…the….”

“The night in the hospital?”

It wasn’t a serious visit. Stiles fever had shot up and he’d been dehydrated. John had refused to wait for a reasonable hour when the doctor’s office was open, so the ER had to do.

“Jax doesn’t find out about that, okay?” A flicker of panic crossed Stiles face at the thought of his brother knowing he was hospitalized. “Stressing over him stressing over my health will put me back in the hospital quicker than my fever ever will.”

“I’m not gonna say anything to him about it.” He would add it to the growing list of things they kept from Jax. “You still need somewhere to go tonight. You aren’t staying home by yourself. You can come with me to the station, but I guarantee your bed at Jax’s house is more comfortable than the couch in my office. You don’t have to stay all night. I can pick you up when I get off work.”

“I’ll call Donna and see if I can chill at her and Opie’s place. She won’t let Jax or anyone else hassle me.” Stiles proposed an alternative place for him to go. “I can drive myself.”

“No, you cannot.” The Jeep would not be moving from the garage until further notice. “You’re not driving when you’re sick like this. I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep at the wheel. I’ll drop you off and pick you up.”

“Okay.” Stiles agreed through a yawn. “Do I have time to wash the stink off me before we go?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” It would give John time to find the rest of the SAMCRO hoodies his son had stashed away in his room.

* * *

 

“So this is where we’re at now.” Dean murmured as he stuck his head under the stream of water. “We’re showering together.”

“Saves water and time.” Jax acknowledged as he lathered his body with soap. “And you’re a lot prettier to look at than a tile wall.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I went down on you.” Dean winked and used this thumb to wipe away any residual cum from around his mouth. “Now why don’t you do me a solid and return the favor.”

He placed his hands on Jax’s shoulders and urged him to the shower floor. Jax sunk to his knees obediently, licking his lips as he peered up at the hunter.

“What is it you wanted me to do here?” Jax smirked as he played coy.

“You see that hard-on in front of your face,” Dean swiveled his hips, letting his cock bob in Jax’s face. “I want you to wrap those pretty lips around it. I want some tongue action too.”

“What about these?” He skimmed his fingers up Dean’s thighs. “You want me to do something with them? Stick ‘em somewhere nice and tight?”

“Oh, yes.” Dean nodded enthusiastically. “Fingers, lips, and tongue. Get ‘em moving, goldilocks.”

“Yes, sir.”

 _“Boys!”_ Gemma’s voice suddenly rang through the house. _“We’re here!”_

“Really?” Dean smacked a first against the shower wall. “We haven’t even started! It was my turn, damn it!”

“I’ll get you later, okay?” Jax patted his lover’s thigh consolingly. “What’s concerning is how my mother’s voice didn’t cause your dick to soften at all.”

“It’s not like she walked in on us.” Dean reasoned as he turned off the faucet. “To be honest, that probably wouldn’t turn me off either. Your mom’s hot.”

“And we’re done here.” Jax would rather tear off his ears than listen to Dean make sexual comments about his mother.

Dean squawked when Jax used him to lever himself to his feet. He pushed the shower curtain out of the way and stepped out, the hunter following suit. They made quick work of drying off and getting dressed before making their way to the living room where their guests were waiting.

John was standing next to the coffee table, where he had set a tub of clothing, while Gemma was ambling in from the kitchen carrying a basket full of Jax’s laundry.

“Time for the annual clothing swap already?” Jax could have sworn they just did that, but he wasn’t complaining. “Good. I think I’m out of hoodies.”

“These need to be washed before they’re redistributed or worn.” John gestured to the tub of sweaters. “He was nesting with them.”

“Do you think Stiles nests with soft clothing to recreate the comfort of a mother’s womb?” Dean sent a pointed glance in Gemma’s direction, apparently deciding to be a shit head in retaliation for the interrupted shower fun.

“I went into pre-term labor with Stiles _twice_. The first time it was stopped with medication, the second time was the charm. He shot out so fast I barely made it to the hospital before he was slithering out of my cooch.” Gemma remarked crudely. “So, I don’t think he found my womb very comforting.”

“He nests because he’s cold and wants to be warm.” Stilinski refuted Dean’s theory. “Unlike Jax, Stiles does not have some unconscious urge to crawl back into the vagina he was expelled from.”

“…Fuck you.” Jax expected that kind of thing from his little brother, not from the kid’s father. “I don’t—that’s ridiculous. I don’t want to be that close to my mother, ever. Dean might, though.”

“You’re not letting that go anytime soon, are you?” Dean said with a put upon sigh.

“Not a chance in hell.” Jax knocked his shoulder against Dean’s. “Where is my little brother, anyway?”

“He wanted to spend the day with Donna.” John told him gently. “I dropped him off on the way.”

“Oh.” Well, that wasn’t something Jax wanted to hear. “Okay.”

“Oh, come on, don’t get that pinched, sad puppy look.” Dean poked a finger to the frown lines on Jax’s forehead. “Just because Stiles would rather be at Opie’s instead of here with you, doesn’t mean he’s choosing Opie over you.”

“It means he’s choosing Donna over you.” John quipped amusedly.

“Did you and Stiles make some sort of deal where if he’s not here to pick on Jax, you are obligated to do it for him?” Gemma asked judgmentally.

“We did, actually.” John confessed unapologetically. “He made me promise.”

“See, Stiles doesn’t want to be with you, but he sent someone to mess with you in his place.” Dean tried to get him to see the bright side of the situation. “He still loves you.”

“He didn’t send me. I just came for the clothes swap.” John motioned between the sweaters and the laundry Gemma had brought in. “Since you’ve been taking Stiles plaid shirts, Jackson, he’s been taking mine, and then you wind up taking those from him. You’re running out of hoodies, Stiles and I are running out of plaid.”

“I don’t take Stiles shirts.” Jax had no reason to take his brother’s clothing, he had plenty of his own.

“You’re wearing one you swiped from him right now.” John referred to the blue-checkered shirt Jax was currently wearing. “He took that one from me.”

“Huh?” Jax glanced briefly at his shirt. “You can’t know that. It looks like every other plaid shirt. It could be anyone’s.”

“There’s a small red stain on the left cuff.” John pointed to the spot on the sleeve. “Stiles thinks it’s from cranberry juice, but between you and me, it’s steak sauce.”

“Uh huh,” Jax would file that information away for later, he could use it to get back on his brother’s good graces.

“This isn’t all the sweaters. There was another one, but I think it belongs to Juice. It was kind of stuffed under the mattress.” John’s face twisted up in a grimace. “I don’t want to know what he was doing with it, but I wasn’t going to touch it.”

“Raising a teenage boy, you gotta be prepared for the bodily fluids jacked off into whatever’s nearby.” Gemma leveled Jax was an unimpressed stare. “Whether it be a dirty shirt or the previous day’s homework.”

“That was one damn time.” It’s not like he didn’t turn in the homework. “I still got an _B_ on that essay.”

“Speaking of homework,” John put on his stern ‘dad’ expression. “Stop doing Stiles’ English paper for him. He can write them himself.”

“He’s been sick. I just wanted to help him out.” Okay, sure, it wasn’t the first time he’d written a paper for his brother, but what did that matter? “What’s the big deal?”

“He’s perfectly capable of doing his own homework.” John said firmly. “You wanna do homework, you can go back to school.”

“Fuck that.” School suck royally, there was no way he would torture himself by re-enrolling.

“What are you two doing today?” Gemma addressed Dean and Jax, effectively changing the subject.

“I planned to spend the day in bed with your son,” Dean smiled smugly. “Doing filthy things to him.”

“Good.” Gemma nodded approvingly. “Maybe you can fuck the stress right out of him.”

“Suddenly sex doesn’t sound so fun.” Dean frowned, just as his cell blared from the bedroom. “Saved by the phone.”

“I’m heading up to the cabin to take supplies to the wounded and his nursemaid.” Gemma told Jax as she watched Dean trudge off to the bedroom. “Ten-to-one Dean’s call is some supernatural crisis, and he’s gonna run off at any second. You wanna go to the cabin with me?”

“Not really.” He had other plans for the day. “I’ll probably put in some hours at TM, and maybe get some big brother time in too.”

“You mean you’re going to force your brotherly love on Stiles against his will, like Gemma forces her maternal crap on him.” John shook his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t be your mother.”

“I’m not being Gemma.” What he did with Stiles was entirely different from what Gemma did. “This is what Stiles and I do, okay? He acts like he doesn’t need a big brother— actually, he acts like he is the big brother, and every once in a while I have to remind him who the little brother is.”

“That’s, uh, one way to go about it.” A pained expression took up residence on John’s face. “You know, sometimes Stiles needs a break from all the crazy.”

“Stiles is the crazy.” Dean retorted as he rushed back into the room. “But I need him. I need him to find Derek for me. He’s at Opie’s, right?”

“What’s wrong?” Jax needed to know what exactly was causing the hunter to panic. “What happened?”

“Bobby was found unconscious and unresponsive in his motel room.” Dean snatched his keys off the coffee table and his coat off the hook by the door. “Derek should know, it’s his dad, but he never answers his phone. He hasn’t been at the loft the last few times I’ve tried to check on him. He and Stiles are friends. Stiles should know where he is.”

“I’ll go with you.” He couldn’t very well let Dean out of his sights in his current state.

* * *

 

Being an old lady to a member of SAMCRO, Donna was accustomed to other members walking into her home uninvited. Jax was the biggest culprit, which made sense, he was Opie’s brother. However, it was unusual to have a Winchester lead the charge with Jax bringing up the rear.

“I need Stiles.” Dean skipped the pleasantries to get to what he came for.

“I’m used to hearing that from Jax.” Donna glanced between the pair. “From you, not so much. What do you want with him? ‘Cause you look pretty squirrely, and I don’t know if I want to let you near him when you’re squirrely. He doesn’t need that right now.”

“Look, Donna, I recognize that you are the mama bear to the little cub that is Stiles. I respect that. He needs a maternal figure.“ Dean held his hands up in front of him defensively. “But I don’t have time for it today.”

“Make time.” Donna was not going to budge on the matter of Stiles until she knew why Dean wanted him. “You are not going near him unless you give me a damn good reason why I should let you.”

“Oh, come on.” Dean looked over his shoulder at Jax. “He’s your brother. Make her let me see him.”

“Yeah, Jax,” Donna challenged him. “ _Make me_ give you access to my cub. Make me do _anything_.”

“I’m not that stupid.” Jax flashed his beau an apologetic smile. “I’ll ask where my brother is.”

“That depends on what you want from him.” She dug in her heels and placed her hands on her hips. “He doesn’t feel good. No one is going near him without a good reason, if you don’t have one you can get the hell out of my house.”

“Bobby’s been hurt. I think his son Derek should know, but Derek doesn’t answer when I call.” Dean relented and finally gave her the answer she was searching for. “Stiles is his friend, kind of. I thought he might know where I could find him.”

“How badly is Bobby hurt?” She would consider allowing them to see Stiles depending on the severity of the injury. Near death was acceptable, but a twisted ankle and broken bone were not.

“The person I talked to said he was more or less comatose.” Dean revealed, his voice thick with worry. “Derek should know something is wrong with his dad.”

“Crap.” Practically comatose was a good reason. “He’s lying down with Opie. I’ll go get him.”

Donna left Jax and Dean in her living room and made her way to the master bedroom, where she’d left her husband and her ‘cub.’ Opie was lying on his back with Stiles curled up at his side. The teenager appeared dead to the world, but Opie was wide-awake.

“He’s drooling all over me.” Her husband whispered as he lazily stroked his hand over Stiles back. “There is heat radiating off him.”

“Well, he’s feverish.” The heat was to be expected. “Dean’s here to harass him. You wanna wake him up?”

“Sure. Hey, kiddo,” Opie drummed his fingers over Stiles shoulder blades. “Wake up, man. Come on.”

“No.” Stiles buried his head in the blankets. “You go away.”

“One, it’s my bed. Two, it’s hard to go anywhere with you lying on top of me.” Opie maneuvered his arm from around the kid, successfully extracting himself. “The sooner you deal with Dean, the sooner you can go back to bed.”

“Fine.”

Stiles threw the blankets off himself and grudgingly rolled out of bed, stomping past Donna into the living room. She followed languidly behind him, not wanting to miss any of the fireworks, and wanting to be close in case she needed to keep anyone in line.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “I know you both are too inept to get through the smallest of crises on your own or together, so just tell me what it is. What problem do you need me to solve for you?”

“Obviously, you are in a bad mood.” Dean noted condescendingly, as if how Stiles was feeling meant nothing. “I’ll make this quick. Where’s Derek been?”

“How the hell should I know? I’m not his keeper.” Stiles griped. “He’s probably out biting every unstable teenager he comes across.”

“You didn’t make the cut?” Dean joked, going as far as to chuckle under his breath, but Stiles did not seem the least bit amused.

“You want to find Derek, go to Beacon Hills and find him.” Stiles growled at the hunter. “Actually, I’ll do you one better, give his cellphone number to Juice, and have him track it.”

“We didn’t think of that.” Jax admitted sheepishly. “He’s probably busy doing shit at TM.”

“Hacking makes Juice hard,” Stiles declared bluntly. “Club bullshit doesn’t allow him to stretch his computer skills often. Give him a woody, let him hack Derek’s phone.”

“Please, _please_ , stop talking about Juice’s dick.” Jax begged his little brother. “I don’t want to make Juice hard.”

“I do! I’ll make him hard.” Dean volunteered with just a little too much enthusiasm. “If he’ll find Derek for me, I’ll do it.”

“This conversation definitely took an unexpected turn.” Donna murmured to herself. “Jax, now that your boyfriend has a plan, why don’t you go put it into action. Your brother needs to rest, he has school in a few days.”

“He can rest at home,” Jax insisted, a hopeful lit to his tone. “With me.”

“I wanna stay here with Donna.” Stiles took two steps back, placing himself behind Donna and out of his brother’s reach. “Dad doesn’t want me to be alone, and I will be if I’m at your house. You’re either gonna go with Dean to deal with whatever supernatural crisis has arisen, or you’ll run off to deal with a club crisis. I’ll be alone when I wanna be with Donna. I’m staying here.”

Stiles did not allow his brother a chance to argue, he stalked out of the room, disappearing into the kitchen without another word, leaving a dumbfounded Jax in his wake.

“Is he okay?” Dean inquired, his brows furrowed in concern. “I mean, mentally okay.”

“No, but he will be.” Donna would make sure of it. “Give me a few hours with him, then Piney will have a talk with him. Stiles will be all good by the end of the evening.”

“I’m gonna stick around today.” Jax decided. “I’m not gonna go with you on the hunt, Dean. I wanna stay close.”

“I get it.” Dean nodded cordially. “I’m just gonna take Derek. Will you keep an eye on Sam for me?”

“Since I don’t think I’m getting _my_ brother back today,” Jax glared at Donna. “I might as well bond with someone else’s.”

“Good, we all know what we’re doing today.” Donna clapped her hands together. “You two go make Juice hard, and I will take care of Stiles.”

“Can we please stop referring to it as making Juice hard?” Jax cringed in distaste. “We’re giving him something to hack, that’s it.”

“Then go do it. Go.” Donna ushered the men out of her house. “Go on. I’ve gotta kick my husband out of bed and try to get Stiles to talk.”

“Have fun with that.”

* * *

 

Dean found Juice in the clubhouse chapel, sitting behind his computer per usual. Seeing as he was already on the laptop, Dean figured he could easily talk him into performing one simple task.

“Hey Juice,” He offered the Son a lopsided grin as he slid into the chair across from him. “I’m here to make you hard.”

“Uh,” Juice’s fingers stilled over the keyboard as he lifted his head from the screen. “Do I get a say in that? You’re objectively good looking, but you aren’t really my type.”

“Bullshit.” He was everybody’s type. “Okay, I’m not here to make you hard. Stiles said—“

“I’m not really surprised this is gonna lead back to Stiles.” Juice leveled Dean with an expectant look. “What do you want?”

“Just a small favor.” It was nothing, really. “Just use Derek’s phone to find out where he is.”

“I get that you’re worried about him, but the kid just lost his uncle.” Juice acknowledged thoughtfully. “Maybe he needs some space.”

“From what Stiles said, Derek’s been on a mission to build a new pack. That’s not something you do if you want space.” That was something you did when trying to build a new family. “I need his help with Bobby, so you need to find him.”

“Why didn’t you have Stiles find him?” Juice asked as he glanced back down at his laptop. “He probably knows where Derek is.”

“Stiles is being a royal pain in the ass.” Okay, yeah, that was a little harsh. “He’s in a mood. He’s all sullen. He’s hiding out with Donna.”

“Oh, he’s in one of _those_ moods.” Juice nodded knowingly. “He’s snapping at Jax too, right? Yeah, he gets like that sometimes, withdrawals from everyone but his dad, Donna, and Piney. He’s not actually pissed at any of us, he just doesn’t want us to see him when he’s wounded. He started doing that after his car accident a few years back, at least that’s when I noticed it.”

“Huh.” Maybe Dean just hadn’t been around enough the last few years to notice. “So, when he’s in these moods, does he still find it in himself to call and let you know I’m coming and why? ‘Cause your hands aren’t moving over those keys. You’re either stalling or you knew what I wanted before I walked through that door. If that’s the case, you already have what I came for.”

“I found his phone’s signal in Beacon Hill’s warehouse district, but it’s weak. I asked Stiles about it. Apparently, there’s an abandon subway station in the same spot.” Juice slid a sticky note across the table. “That’s the address. Stiles thinks Derek’s underground, in the subway station.”

“What the hell does Beacon Hills need a subway for?” Those were generally for big cities, not small towns. “Thanks for this. I’ll head up there. Um, Jax is gonna ‘bond’ with Sam today, keep an eye on them, make sure they don’t get in too much trouble.”

“Your brother’s kind of a killjoy.” Juice snorted derisively. “I don’t think he knows how to have too much fun or any at all. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“You might be right.” Dean had never considered his brother to be wild or much of a partier. “And you’ve got other plans tonight, don’t you?”

“I’m meeting Luke, the bartender from _Spider_.” Juice waggled his brows and licked his lips. “We hook up once in a while.”

“You’re dating the bartender from the club where we killed a vampire?”

“We are not dating. I do not date.” Juice shot down the insinuation. “I’ve had bad experiences dating.”

“Oh, that’s not true.” Dean could remember at least one girlfriend Juice had in the past. “Brandi was hot. You two were good together.”

“She tried to kill me. Gemma had to scare her off.” The younger man reminded him. “In all fairness, I was warned about her, by several different people, but I was nineteen and stupid.”

“Yeah, I forgot she tried to stab you.” If memory served, she pulled the same stunt on Lowell before she got to Juice. “You had to have had at least one good experience dating. What about your high school girlfriend or boyfriend?”

“I wouldn’t call what Bex and I had dating, our whole relationship was basically getting high and fucking a lot. The last time we were together we both OD in a shooting gallery.” Juice frowned at the memory. “We both survived. Afterward her mom put her in rehab and my sister booted my ass out of town. Haven’t seen her since. So I wouldn’t say it began or ended well.”

“Yeah, you suck a dating.” Not that Dean was any better at it. “But you’re not against dating all together, right? I mean, if you found the right person—“

“I already said you weren’t my type.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t talking about me.” For what it was worth, Dean did not consider Juice to be his type either, for anything more than a one-night stand that is. “I’m just looking out for my boy, making sure he doesn’t have his heart set on something that’s never gonna happen.”

“Your boy?” Juice’s lips twitched. “You talking about Stiles?”

“It’s funny your mind would immediately go to Stiles, but I was thinking about anyone, really, anyone that catches your eye.” Of course he was talking about Stiles. “You really want to end up like Chibs or Tig? You wanna be in your late forties, still thinking you’re hot shit, and screwing your way through croweaters half your age that only want you for your kutte? You don’t want to settle down with an old lady or old man, and have a family of your own one day?”

“Holy shit,” Juice reeled back in his chair. “You’re doing that thing, the thing couples do when they get serious. They want to be friends with other couples so they start setting up their single friends. You and Jax have gotten all domestic, and now you want everyone else to be domestic too.”

“Yeah, so?” What was so wrong with that?

“Instead of worrying about my love life, why don’t you go find Derek?” Juice suggested, waving a hand to the chapel doors. “Isn’t that what you came here for?”

“Yes, I did.” Dean stood from his chair. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“We really won’t.”

* * *

 

Stiles could talk, he could talk a lot. It was kind of his thing. It wasn’t always that way, he’d actually been a pretty quiet kid. It was only after his mother fell ill that he was burdened with the urge to fill the silence left in her wake. The constant chatter annoyed some, worried others, and ultimately became his new normal. As a result, whenever he was silent for an extended period of time those closest to him grew concerned for his emotional wellbeing.

Case in point: he had been at the Winston house for hours without saying more than a two words to anyone since Jax and Dean left, and he could practically feel the worry emanating from Donna and Opie. The couple didn’t try hard to hide it, they were watching from the kitchen, staring at him as if he were some sort of test subject in a psychological experiment. It was a little disconcerting, but Stiles wasn’t about to call them out on it.

“You’re gonna fix him, right?” Opie asked his wife, not seeming to care if Stiles overheard him. “I mean, that’s how this works. He fixes Jax, you fix him.”

“He doesn’t need to be fixed, he’s not broken, you nimrod.” Donna elbowed her husband’s ribcage. “He’s just…sad.”

“You can definitely fix that.” Opie said confidently. “You can do the talking thing and make it better.”

“I can try.” The woman pursed her lips. “He’s not going to say anything while you’re here. You’ll blab to Jax.”

“If that’s your subtle way of telling me to take a hike,” Opie took he hint and handed his coffee cup over to his wife. “I’m gone.”

“Thank you, baby.” Donna stood on her tip-toes to press her lips to her husband’s. “Have a good day.”

“Yep.”

Opie gathered his kutte and keys as he headed to the door, stopping only to give Stiles a brotherly kiss to the forehead before he was gone. Donna didn’t pussyfoot around once it was just the two of them. She filled Opie’s mug up with fresh coffee for herself and joined Stiles at the table.

“Hey you,” She tapped her index finger on the table to capture his attention. “Why so glum, chum?”

“ _’Glum, chum.’_ ” He couldn’t help but grin at the way she posed the question. “You know, I’m not five anymore. You don’t have to use kid gloves.”

“You have enough people treating you like an adult, I won’t be one of them. I want you to be a kid for as long as you can be, you deserve that.” She smiled somberly. “I’d rather you not die of a heart attack before you’re thirty, so let’s unburden you of the stress weighing you down. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, Dean is dying.” That particular problem had sat like a lead weight in the back of his mind since he’d been told. “Sam and Bobby have been looking for a way to fix it, but there’s nothing to find. Dean will die, and I don’t think that’s something Jax can recover from.”

“You gotta give your brother more credit. He’s stronger than you think he is.” Donna asserted her faith in his brother. “I’m sure when Thomas died no one thought Jax could get through that, but he did. It took him time, years, to move on, but eventually he made it. He can get through losing Dean too.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you know what pushed Jax out of his grief for Thomas? It was you. It took him six year and your birth to bring him out of the fog.” She rested her chin on the palm of her hand and offered him a considering look. “Since the day you were born you’ve been pulling Jax out of the darkness. I always wondered why he never managed to do the same for you.”

“Jax and I feel things differently.” It was something Stiles had picked up on as a child. “He feels things on a deeper level. It overwhelms him, that’s why he lashes out. He yells, gets violent, and self-destructive, because he can’t handle the storm inside him. I know how to calm him, settle him down before he implodes.”

“How do _you_ keep from imploding?”

“I don’t really have that problem.” Stiles did not allow his emotions to control him the same way his brother did. “I don’t think I feel things the way normal people do. I think I feel less than I’m supposed to.”

“Why do you think that, sweetie?” Donna questioned cautiously.

“I don’t care about things like I should, like anyone else would.” He had noticed recently that during incidents other people found traumatic, his own reactions were slightly underwhelming. “I should be horrified or scared by things I’ve seen or wanted to do, but I’m not. It’s like I’m unaffected by some things, or I want things to happen more, bad things, and sometimes I want to be the one to do the bad things. That’s wrong, isn’t it? I’m wrong. I’m bad.”

“Give me an example of one of these ‘bad’ things you’ve wanted to do.” Donna prompted, leaning back in her chair to give him her full attention.

“That night in the tunnels with Kate, I wanted to kill her.” He could still picture every vivid detail in his mind. “I wanted to kill her and it wouldn’t have been about protecting Derek. It wasn’t even about Derek when I told Bobby that we couldn’t let her go. I told him it was because she’d keep coming back for Derek, and she would, but that’s not the reason I wanted her dead.”

“So what was it about?” Donna asked, her head tilted to the side in curiosity. “If it wasn’t about Derek, what was it about?”

“She was evil. She needed to die so she couldn’t hurt anyone else.” If they had let her go and she hurt even one more person, that blood would have soaked their hands along with hers. “She had to die. I wanted her to die. I wanted to be the one to pull the trigger.”

“You wanted to kill her to prevent her from hurting anyone else. That’s a natural reaction, Stiles.” She reasoned objectively. “That doesn’t make you bad or evil, whatever it is you think you are. It just means you’re human.”

“Not a very good human.” Kate Argent was not the first person Stiles had visualized killing. She didn’t even rate in the top bracket of people he personally wanted to put in the ground.

“I’m not going to lie and tell you I think you’re the epitome of morality or something.” She acknowledged honestly. “But I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you are whoever you need to be, when you need to be it.”

“How so?”

“You live two entirely different lives in Beacon Hills and Charming, and you’re different people in both of them.” She explained as she took a sip of her coffee. “You blend so perfectly into each one. You stay under the radar so you don’t attract too much attention to yourself. You adapt to your surroundings, learn the ins and outs, what makes it tick, how it’s useful, if it’s a threat. You mold yourself into the character that fits best in that world.”

“You make it sound like I have multiple personalities or something.” It didn’t exactly put him at ease.

“No, no, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” She reached across the table to cover his hand with hers, giving it a good squeeze. “It’s all you, Stiles. It’s one personality, it’s just certain traits are more prominent depending on where you are.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“In Beacon Hills, you are clumsy and overly sarcastic. You’re willing to play second fiddle to your friends, because that is what’s needed there. In Charming, you still have all that, but it’s tamped down, and that ballsy, assertive, fearless, take-no-shit Stiles is at the forefront. In situations like what happened in the tunnels, you are strong, confident, and willing to make the hard choice.” Donna laid out the differences for him. “That’s all you, Stiles. It’s all inside of you, you just choose when to show what. You never show more than you have to.”

“And that’s a good thing?” He wasn’t convinced it didn’t all prove he was fucked in the head. “If I’m all that, but only at certain times, who is the real me? Who am I?”

“You are whoever you need to be to survive.” Donna said simply, which didn’t really answer the question. “You’ve got a good heart, that is true no matter which role you are playing.”

“I’m not sure a good heart is enough.” Good things were so easily corrupted.

“Okay, this whole pity-party thing you’ve got going is because you think you’re bad, right? And you’re such a stubborn ass that telling you you’re not is just going to go in one ear and out the other. So, let’s try a more direct approach.” Donna changed tactics. “If you want to be a better person, you could start by being a little nicer to people.”

“Be nicer? What are you even talking about? I am very nice.” He was an asshole, sure, but a nice asshole. “I am the nicest person you know.”

“Given the people we associate with, that’s a pretty low bar.” All right, that was a fair point. “You’re kind of a bully.”

“I am not.” Stiles was a lot of things, a bully wasn’t one of them. “Why would you say that?”

“You are unnecessarily mean to members of the club.” Donna remarked critically. “You insult them daily, and talk to them like they’re idiots.”

“Most of them are idiots.” He treated them as he did mostly because no one else had the balls to do it. “If I’m nice to them, they’ll think I like them, or worse, that I respect them.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t.”

* * *

 

“Sam,” Jax grinned as the younger Winchester swung open the motel door. “How’s it going, kid?”

“Dean’s not here.” Sam relayed, annoyance heavy in his voice.

“I know.” Jax had watched Dean pack and leave for Beacon Hills hours ago. “I came to see you.”

“Why?” Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What do you want with me?”

“Just checking in.” And maybe he wanted to dig up a little dirt, but he had a feeling he would need to work up to that. “We never hang out.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Sam huffed and pushed open the door anyway. “We don’t really like each other.”

“That’s not true.” Okay, it was a little true. “I like you when you’re not being a pain in the ass.”

“Ditto.” Sam shot back. “You don’t have to check on me.”

“Sure I do. You’re Dean’s little brother and he’s out of town. He has to know you’re safe.” He was certain Dean would do the same for him regarding Stiles if the situation called for it. “You know how he is.”

“I do.”

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Jax commented, taking in the books scattered across every available surface of the room. “What are you researching?”

“Demon deals.” Sam replied as he sat on the bed and picked up a pad of paper, preparing to continue his work whether Jax was there or not.

“Why?”

“Dean.” Sam said impatiently, before his body suddenly went rigid and turned a timid glance Jax’s way. “Um, what I mean is, Dean thought if we could find a way around demon deals then we could save more people.”

“Makes sense.” It didn’t sound like the full truth, but it was probably the best Jax could hope for at the moment. “You want some help?”

“You wanna help me research?” Disbelief marred Sam’s features. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Jax could do research, he was actually pretty good at it. “I’ll help you with your research today, and tonight we can go out and have a couple drinks.”

“Are you trying to bond with me or something?” Sam questioned with a look that suggested he would rather be run over by a car than spend quality time with him. “Just because you’re sort of dating my brother doesn’t mean we have to get to know each other more than we already do.”

“It’s just a couple drinks, man.” It had nothing to do with bonding or getting to know anyone. “Dean’s worried about you. He thinks you’re stressed out. I think you should take the night to unwind. Come have a few drinks with me and Opie tonight.”

“Fine.” Sam reluctantly agreed. “Drinks later. Research now. Just pick a book and dive in.”

“All right.” Jax took a seat at the table by the door and pulled a book off the top of the stack. “So all this demon deal stuff lately, is there a reason for it? It seems like a top priority when it wasn’t before.”

“It’s our _only_ priority.” Sam snapped. “It’s the only thing Dean and I should be focused on.”

“Does this have something to do with your dad?” It wasn’t really Jax’s place, but he couldn’t help but ask. “He made a deal to save Dean. Do you think there was something you could have done to save him? From what Dean said—“

“Dad’s deal was up minutes after Dean regained consciousness. We never had a chance to save him.” Sam ducked his head in shame. “Ten years is what most people get, but sometimes it’s less than that. One person that I know of only got a year to live.”

“You’re trying to find something to get them out of the deal before the year is up.” Unless, of course, that deal had already come due. “Are they still around?”

“Yeah, for now.” Sam confirmed the bearer of the deal was still among the living. “He doesn’t have a lot of time left. I’ve got to find something to help him. I can’t let him die.”

“He’s important to you.” That limited the victim pool considerably. “Sam, who is it?”

“Who it is isn’t important right now.” Sam flipped through the pages of a book. “What matters is finding him a way out of the deal. _I_ have to find a way.”

“You will.”

* * *

 

The abandon subway station was exactly what Dean was expecting, a step up from the remains of the Hale house and a step back from the loft.

“Nice place you got here,” Dean said to announce his presence as he stepped into an old subway car where Derek was seated. “I dig the aesthetic, it’s very dark and moody, like you.”

“My dad sent you.” Derek sighed and closed the book on his lap, tossing it aside. “Tell him I’m fine.”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t.” Dean had an aversion to lying to Bobby, where Derek was concerned at least. “I can’t really tell him anything. He’s in a coma.”

“What?” Derek was on his feet in a heartbeat, as if he were ready to brawl with whomever or whatever hurt his father. “What happened?”

“I don’t know the specifics, not yet.” There was only so much the hospital could tell him over the phone. “He was on the hunt, he got hurt.”

“What hunt?”

“I don’t know.” Up until the phone call, Dean had been under the impression that Bobby was in Beacon Hills. “The last I knew, he was with you.”

“He was doing his hunter hotline stuff out of the loft. I know he was delegating cases to other hunters, but there was one he couldn’t find anyone to take, so I told him to do it.” Guilt flickered over the wolf’s face. “He didn’t want to go, but I pushed him. I told him I was fine, I didn’t need a babysitter. He went on the hunt, but I didn’t think he’d go alone. I thought he would take you with him.”

“He didn’t.” If he had, maybe they could have avoided this whole mess. “He must have thought it was an easy case, that he wouldn’t need help.”

“He was wrong.” Derek growled as he slipped on his leather jacket. “Where is he? Where did the hospital call you from?”

“Pittsburg.” A long way from their current location. “Driving would take too long, we’re gonna fly. So, it’s a good thing you heal rapidly.”

“What does my healing have to do with anything?”

“I don’t like flying.” That might have been the understatement of the year. “One of your hands is gonna end up as my stress ball.”

“Why can’t you use your brother’s hand?”

“Sam’s staying behind on this one.” Honestly, Sam was stressed out enough with the demon deal stuff, Dean didn’t want to put more on his plate by telling him about Bobby being injured. He wouldn’t tell his brother that unless he had to. “It’s just you and me, kid.”

“Great.” Derek’s lack of enthusiasm was a little disheartening. “When are we leaving?”

“Soon.” They needed to get to the airport within the hour to get through security. “Grab a change of clothes and your toothbrush, and let’s go.”

“All that stuff’s at the loft. We’ll have to stop there first.”

“Fine.”

* * *

 

Stiles spent a good portion of his life in hospitals. He’d been a patient on several occasions and every time he’d fought like hell to be released as soon as medically advisable, if not sooner. He did what he could to be with his mother everyday when she was sick, the only time he couldn’t manage it was when she was admitted to Eichen House. More recently, he found himself at the hospital twice a week to check on Abel.

Normally, he would sit vigil beside the incubator and tell his nephew about his day or read to him from a book. He’d sidelined himself since he’d been sick, which sucked two-fold because if he were healthy he would finally be able to hold Abel. With no other option, Stiles resigned himself to sitting outside the hospital nursery and peering at the baby through the glass.

Seeing Abel and the other infants swaddled in their bassinets had an almost calming effect on him. Some of the babies were brand new, others, like Abel, were weeks or even months old, but still needed around the clock care. If they were lucky, they were all loved and wanted, visited every day by their families, or at least Stiles hoped they were, no child should come into the world lonely.

“You’ve all got parents, families.” Stiles murmured lowly to the babies. “I bet they can’t wait to take you home, to hold you, and love you.”

Aside from the obvious food and shelter, love and care was all a kid really needed to survive. The sad part was, there were children out in the world, maybe one or two in that very nursery, whose parents didn’t want them, didn’t think they were worth it.

“You know, I’ve seen to three generations of Stilinski’s and every one of you has had a morose default expression.” Piney’s voice startled him as the old man took a seat in the chair next to him. “I’d hoped you’d escape it.”

“Sorry, no dice.” Stiles great-grandmother Alamina Stilinski had once told him that all Stilinski men came into the world tormented. “I can smile if it’ll make you more comfortable.”

“No, I don’t want a lie.” Piney glanced into the nursery. “Who are you thinking about when you look in there? I know it’s not Abel bringing you down.”

“The lost and the unwanted.” Thankfully, his nephew was neither of those things. “Wondering which of these babies are….”

“Are like you.” Piney finished his thought. “You weren’t unwanted, Stiles, not when you were born and not now.”

“Well, Dad didn’t know I was his kid until I was a few days old.” He imagined his father had mixed feelings about him those days before the paternity test came back. “And Gemma always made it pretty clear that she didn’t want anything to do with me until another woman stepped into be my mother. I doubt she even held me when I was born.”

 “She didn’t hold you.” The old man didn’t pull any punches when confirming what Stiles had always thought. “You came out and the nurses tried to hand you to her and she pushed you away, wouldn’t even look at you.”

“Color me shocked.” He wasn’t surprised by Gemma’s coldness, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“You gonna ask me how I know that? Hmm?” Piney paused, giving him a chance to respond to a rhetorical question. “It’s because I was there.”

“You were there?”

“I drove Gemma to the hospital when she went into labor. I was with her in the delivery room.” Piney recalled, sounding nostalgic. “I cut your cord. _I_ held you when Gemma refused to.”

“You did?” Stiles had never thought much about his birth, he just assumed Gemma had been alone.

“I was present for all Gemma’s births, not just yours.” Piney told him. “JT was useless in that department, so I was there when Jax and Thomas were born too.”

“I didn’t know that.” Maybe he should have, Piney had always been there for him as a kid, it made sense he would have been there for his birth too.

“I sat with you those first few days, until the paternity test came back. I didn’t want you to think you were alone.” The old man lifted a hand to cup Stiles cheek for a moment. “Twenty-eight years before that, in this very nursery, I did the same thing for your daddy when he was born.”

“Where were Grandpa Henry and Blythe?” Surely, one of them would have been there.

“They needed a break once in a while. Your daddy was very premature and very sick.” Sadness clouded over Piney’s features as he thought back to that time. “You know, that was the late sixties, St. Thomas had just opened their Neonatal unit and I don’t think the staff was fully trained to run it, let alone deal with the parents of babies that were so sick. I mean, the doctors told your grandparents that your father had no chance, he would die, it was just a matter of when. They said he probably wouldn’t make it through the night, but if he did, the longest he’d survive was at most a week.”

“But he did survive.” Stiles was living proof that his father made it much further than the doctors expected him to. “Were you as close to my dad when he was a kid as you are with me and Jax? I know you were BFF’s with Jax’s dad, but you were pretty tight with my grandpa too. I know you and Dad aren’t close now, but were you once?”

“Not really, no. Your dad never really took to me the way you did. He didn’t need me the way you and Jax did.” Piney sighed. “Growing up, Jax needed someone stable, and I tried to be that for him. With you, you had everything you needed in Beacon Hills with your daddy, but in Charming, you needed someone a bit more levelheaded than your big brother.”

“You saw me through some rough shit,” Stiles had no idea how he would have gotten through it all without his dad and Piney by his side. “And some good stuff to.”

“What’s the count on that now?” The old man cautiously asked. “Does the good outweigh the bad yet?”

“I don’t know.” He hadn’t taken stock of it all in a while. “Abel is definitely in the plus column. He can tip the scales.”

“Is there something else tipping them the other way?” Piney eyed him with concern. “Someone? A different kid?”

“I’m not sure anymore.” It was a complicated situation all the way around. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot since Abel was born. The older I get, the more my feelings change on that subject.”

“That could be a good thing.” The old man mused. “You were in a bad place with all that for a long time. Any clarity you can find is a good thing.”

“Clarity brings feelings, and feelings only complicate things more.” Feelings were messy, they’d all be better off if they didn’t have any at all. “Hey, do you think Jax is going to be a good father?”

“He could be, with some help and some guidance.” At least Piney was realistic about it, he didn’t just throw his complete confidence behind Jax and hope for the best. “Don’t tell me you’ve started doubting him.”

“I haven’t.” He knew Jax could be a great father with the right assistance, he just needed to know someone else did to. “He’s gonna be good.”

“You could be too, one day in the distant future, when you’re much, much older.” Piney smiled encouragingly. “But you don’t want that, do you?”

“A family? Kids? To be the white picket fence guy? No, I don’t want that.” The apple-pie life sounded more like a prison sentence than it did a dream. “I’m not really built for it.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’ve done a great job raising Jax where Gemma’s dropped the ball.” Piney quipped with a hearty laugh. “The sad part is, that’s not even a joke.”

“No, it’s not.” He did what he could for his brother, to keep the few parts of him Gemma hadn’t poisoned pure. “I do the best I can with him.”

“I know you do.” Piney acknowledged as he studied him. “So, you don’t want the apple-pie life, but you have to want something for your future. You’ve got, what, two years of high school left, pretty soon you’re gonna have to decide what happens next, what you want to do with your life, what you want from life.”

“After high school, I’ll go to college,” He had his eye on Berkeley, but he was open to other prospects. “After college, there’s the police academy.”

“You know what you want to do _with_ your life, but not what you want _out_ of life.” The old man frowned. “What do you _want_ , Stiles.”

“I want my dad to be safe at all times. I want Jax to be self-sufficient.” Two things he knew he could never have. “I want the Winchesters to stop taking stupid risks that will ultimately get them killed. I want the club to realize that running guns is either gonna land everybody in jail or dead.”

“Those are all things you want for them.” Piney pointed out. “What do you want for you?”

“Nothing.” He’d learned a long time ago that he didn’t get what he wanted. “Everything I’ve ever wanted has gotten ripped away from me. What’s the point of wanting anything or anyone?”

“That’s a sad way to go through life.” Piney said pityingly. “All you want for your future is school and work, huh? Sounds lonely.”

“I can do lonely.” He had been doing lonely most of life. “Hell, I am awesome at lonely. I get it from dad.”

“Your dad isn’t lonely.”

“Yes, he is.” His dad was probably one of the saddest and loneliest people Stiles knew, though he hid it well. “He’s not the only one. Great-Grandma Alamina said it was a family curse. _‘The men in our family are destined for loneliness. Prepare yourself, aniołku.'_ She looked so heartbroken when she said it.”

“Alamina was a superstitious woman. It was easier for her to believe in a curse than to believe that life could be so cruel.” Piney reasoned meaningfully. “I wish you could have known her and your father before your grandpa was killed. They were both so different, so vibrant and hopeful, ready to take on the world, people were just drawn to them. Alamina losing her son and your dad losing his father, it just took away those pieces of them, and they never really got ‘em back.”

“I can relate.” Loss had stripped away parts of him as well. “Alamina was right, though, every man in our family has ended up lonely. Grandpa Henry did after Blythe left. Great-Grandpa Jarek was so lonely after he lost Alamina, that he died a week later. And Dad…he was lonely before mom, and he’s lonelier since she’s been gone. I’m with him every day, I see his loneliness. I wish I could change it, but I can’t, and I don’t know if he would put in the effort to change it himself.”

“What do you think could change it for him?”

“People. He needs people.” Outside of work and Stiles himself, his dad didn’t have anyone in his life to talk to or turn to. “He hasn’t dated since Mom died. He doesn’t really have friends. He needs people, a person. I try to be that person, but there are things he won’t tell me ‘cause I’m his kid. He needs someone to talk to, and I don’t mean a shrink, just…a person.”

“I bet when you bring it up to him, he pastes on a reassuring smile and says everything is fine. You might recognize that play. You do the same thing when Jax is worried about you.” Piney obviously couldn’t resist commenting on the similarities. “Your dad’s better at it than you are.”

“Give me time, he’s been doing it longer.” In a few years, he would have that act down. “Can we be done talking about this now? If you say yes, I’ll forget that Donna spoke to you about a private conversation I had with her.”

“She didn’t tell me anything. She just said you were in a bad mindset and asked me to check on you.” Piney quickly came to his daughter-in-law’s defense. “It’s like when Opie calls you to deal with Jax when he can’t manage it. When you’re in Charming, Donna and I determine which of us is better suited to deal with whatever you are going through.”

“Are you saying that you and Donna _handle_ me?” That was absurd. “I do not need to be handled. I am not the kind of person that needs to be handled. I am self-sufficient, like the Stilinski’s that came before me. I keep myself in check, I don’t need anyone else to do it for me. I keep myself in line. I do that.”

“Take a breath,” Piney advised him. “You’re getting worked up.”

“I am not getting worked up. I do not need to take a damn breath.” He did not appreciate the man’s attempt to handle him, after he specifically said he did not need to be handled! “If I was worked up, which I’m not, I am perfectly capable of calming myself down.”

“Sure you are.”

* * *

 

Seeing his dad lying unmoving on a hospital bed, looking pale, and washed out under the harsh lights had been rough for Derek. He wasn’t accustomed to his father being in such a weakened state, it shook him to the core. The doctor relaying that they had no explanation for what was causing Bobby’s comatose state only made things worse. He was ashamed to say he was relieved when Dean suggested they leave so they could inspect Bobby’s motel room.

“So, why was my dad in Pittsburg?” Derek asked as he and Dean dropped their bags on the floor just inside the door.

“A case, like I said.” Dean muttered and he scanned the room. “Unless he was taking an extremely lame vacation.”

“What case?” He’d forgotten he had to be specific or else his questions would go over the hunters head. “ _What_ was he hunting?”

“Well, you think there’d be some sort of sign or something, you know? Research, news clippings…” Dean grumbled and began rifling through the nightstand drawer in search of clues. “Or a frigging pizza box or beer can.”

While Dean searched the dresser and drawers, Derek made his way to the closet. He intended to search through his father’s luggage, but found the clothes had already been hung up and put away. He pushed a few of the shirts aside and by chance found the jackpot. Pinned to the wall behind the clothing was a map of Pittsburg, photos of seeds, mushrooms, and roots, along with post-its with addresses and phone numbers scrawled across them.

“I think I found what we’re looking for.” Derek gestured to the clippings.

“Good old Bobby,” Dean grinned approvingly. “Always covering up his tracks.”

“You know what all this means?” If there was an order to the madness, he didn’t see it.

“Hmm,” Dean snagged a print out of an article about some type of plant and read off the title. “’ _Silene capensis,_ ’ which of course means nothing to me.”

“Here’s an obituary,” Derek pulled the news clipping off the wall. “ _’Dr. Walter Gregg, 64, university neurologist.’_ ”

“How’d he bite it?”

“Doesn’t say.” He supposed that meant the officials didn’t know shit. “It just says he went to sleep and didn’t wake up.”

“That sound familiar to you?” It was exactly what Bobby’s doctor had said happened to him.

“So my dad was looking into the doctor’s death.” That seemed to be what he’d been doing, if Derek was reading the research on the wall correctly. “He was hunting something that started hunting him.”

“Yeah, it looks that way.” Dean clucked and handed the silene capensis article over to him . “All right, you stay here. See if you can make heads or tails of all the crap on the wall.”

“I’m not a hunter.” He wasn’t privy to their particular shorthand when it came to gathering and assessing pertinent information. “I don’t know what all this is.”

“You’re a smart kid, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“What are you gonna do?” Derek was stuck decoding hunter jargon, while the only other hunter in town ran off to do god knows what.

“I’m gonna look into the good doctor myself.” Well, that sounded dangerous, especially considering how things turned out for Bobby.

* * *

 

Hindsight, taking Sam to a strip club probably wasn’t the best idea. Jax only wanted the kid to let loose, have a little fun, maybe spill a few secrets. He’d even enlisted Opie to help him get Sam on the path to drunkenness. At the beginning of the night, it was a good plan, near the end, not so much.

It had started out well enough. They all shared a few beers before moving onto shots later in the evening. Going shot for shot with two goliaths was where Jax made his mistake.

He could usually hold his own when it came to liquor, but as it was, he was already spinning and feeling lightheaded. Opie, on the other hand, was perfectly composed at his side, still knocking back shot after shot of tequila like they were life’s elixir. And Sammy, well, he had moved to the end of the bar to chat up a dancer who’d come off stage.

“Hey, hey,” Jax hit Opie’s arm repeatedly to make sure he was listening. “Think he’ll hit that?”

“Nope.” Opie shook his head and knocked back another shot. “He’s spent the last twenty minutes telling her about his time in Stanford, and his LSAT scores. Apparently, she’s dancing here to pay for law school.”

“Huh.” He brought Sam to a strip club to have fun, and the kid spent the whole time chatting up the dancers about _school_ of all things. “Should we buy him a lap dance?”

“You did that an hour ago.” Opie reminded him. “He was very uncomfortable with it, and spent ten minutes in the men’s room when it was over. I don’t think he’d appreciate a second go.”

“Maybe I’ll get one for myself.” Jax always enjoyed a good lap dance.

“You’ve had three already.” Opie put an arm around his shoulders to keep him from moving. “You’ve even offered to get up on stage and show them what you’re got. Maybe it’s time we call it a night.”

“No, no. It’s still early.” And he hadn’t actually gotten around to doing what he came out to do. “I’ve gotta get Sam to tell me what’s going on with Dean. That was the whole point of getting him drunk.”

“Fine.” Opie leaned over the bar to thump Sam on the back. “Stop bothering the girl and come here. We wanna talk to you.”

“What is it?” Sam questioned as he moved a few stools closer. “Are we leaving? It’s still early.”

“We’re not leaving.” Jax assured the kid. “I want you to tell me what the hell is going on with Dean. I know he’s keeping something from me, and I’m sick of it. So spill. What is going on with him?”

“I can’t tell you.” Sam dropped his gaze to the dirty bar.

“Yes, you can.” Jax would find a way to make the kid tell him. “Dean’s in Pittsburg. He never has to know.”

“He made me promise. I won’t break a promise I made to my brother.” Sam traced his finger over the condensation on an empty glass in front of him. “I can tell you I tried, though. I tried.”

“You—“ There was something about the darkness that flickered over the younger man’s face that made Jax hesitant to ask. “You tried to do what?”

“To save Dean.” Tears flooded Sam’s eyes. “Where he’s going…what he’s going to become. I can’t stop it. I don’t even think Ruby can or anyone. No one can stop it.”

“Stop what?” Jax pushed Sam to give him the truth, the full truth, not just bits and pieces he couldn’t decipher.

“He’s drunk, Jax.” Opie cut in tersely. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“No one can save him. H-He doesn’t want to be saved.” Sam continued as tears poured down his cheek. “How can he care so little about himself?”

“All right. That’s enough.” Opie pulled his cellphone from his pocket. “I’m calling Donna to come get us.”

“We still have time for a few more drinks before she gets here.” Jax figured they could all use a few more, especially Sam. “Bartender, can we get another round? And keep ‘em coming until our driver gets here.”

“Comin’ right up, darlin.”

* * *

 

Piney usually wasn’t the type to burst dramatically into a room uninvited, but sometimes desperate times called for desperate measures. With that in mind, he had no problem pushing his way into John’s office without warning, something which was far too easy to do in a sheriff’s station.

“Piney, I wasn’t expecting you.” John tilted his head in confusion. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” He answered truthfully, as he took the open seat across from the sheriff.

“What happened?” The other man shot out of his chair, alarm coloring his face. “Did Stiles temperature go up again? Did Donna take him to St. Thomas? Why didn’t you call me?”

“No, no, no. Calm down. He’s fine.” Piney tried to reassure him, hoping to erase the crazed look he was sporting. “He’s fine. He was at St. Thomas, but only to visit Abel. He’s back with Donna now.”

“Oh, good. Good.” John let out the breath he’d been holding and settled back into his seat. “What, uh, what’s going on?”

“You need to find a girlfriend.” Piney had learned a longtime ago that the best way to get through to a Stilinski was to be straightforward.

“I’m sorry?”

“Or a friend.” It didn’t _have_ to be a significant other. “Someone.”

“Um,” John squirmed in his chair. “What?”

“You need someone in your life that is not your son.” In Piney’s opinion, it wasn’t healthy for John to isolate himself the way he had in recent years. It wasn’t healthy for John or Stiles. “He needs to see you with someone, connected to another person.”

“W-What are you talking about?” John swallowed thickly. “Did Stiles ask you to talk to me? He was uncomfortable giving me his blessing to start dating again, so he sent you to do it for him. Is that what this is?”

“This is about how all Stiles future plans involve him being alone. He believes that’s okay, because since Claudia died, that’s how you’ve been.” Choosing to be alone wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, not when you were an adult and had the experience to make that decision. “He needs to see you be more than a lonely man who only has a career to keep him busy. He needs to see his dad be happy.”

“I am happy.” John claimed with his patented reassuring smile. “I have my son and my job, that’s all I need.”

“I’m sure that’s what you thought before you met Claudia.” Being alone was enough until you realized what it felt like to be with someone else. “I’m not saying go out and find a new wife, but you need to find _someone_ , for Stiles sake.”

“Maybe you misunderstood Stiles when you talked to him. You think he wants to be alone the rest of his life, when maybe he just wants some alone time, something he rarely gets.” John theorized as he fidgeted anxiously with his wristwatch. “He is surrounded by people. Jax and the club, Scott and the pack, they are all pulling him in ten different directions. I would be concerned if he didn’t need to be alone once in a while.”

“That child is floundering, John. He is hanging on by a thread and he doesn’t even know it. The only person who can save him is you. You are the only person he trusts to do it.” Stiles may turn to Piney or Donna for advice, but it was his daddy he looked up to, who he was learning to be a man from. “You have to show him the way. Show him that life isn’t all bad. He needs a guide, not just a parent. He needs you to show him how to live life, not just survive it.”

“I don’t know if I know how to do that anymore.” John confessed grimly. “I think I stopped living after Dad died. I mean, I don’t remember much from those years, from when he died to when Stiles was born. It’s all blurry, like I slept walked through it. You guys always say that Stiles brought Jax back after Thomas and JT died, well, it was the same for me. For years, I was just getting by, and then Stiles was born and everything was in color again. I could _breathe_ again.”

“You stopped living again when Claudia died.”

“I didn’t mean to.” John’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I try for Stiles. I try to show him that we can get through anything life throws at us. I try to be happy, but I don’t think I’ve ever really managed it.”

“It’s hard to be happy when bad things keep happening over and over again, and all the good things get chipped away.” Piney had witnessed the string of bad luck that seemed to follow the Stilinski family. The fact that it never broke them was a testament to the strength of the family. “You’ve shown Stiles how to survive, how to get back up no matter what knocks him down. Now it’s time to teach him how to live, even if that means learning how to do it yourself.”

“I’ll try. I will. I’ll do it.” John vowed confidently. “For Stiles, I can do that.”

* * *

 

Dean’s investigation into the deceased Dr. Gregg’s death had led him to a college student named Jeremy Frost, who had taken part in the good doctor’s sleep study. Jeremy was a prime test subject because he couldn’t dream, like at all, but he’d dropped out of the study after a bad acid-like trip. Dean had spoken to him for a few minutes, even shared a beer with him. In the end, he decided the kid had nothing worthwhile to offer, and made the executive decision to head back to the hospital.

Derek, unsurprisingly, had beaten him to Bobby’s side. The wolf was seated next to the hospital bed with a pensive expression on his face. His right hand resting beside Bobby’s on the blanket, and on his lap was a file folder overflowing with papers.

“How’s he doing?” Dean asked as he stepped into the room.

“No change.” Derek mumbled, bringing a hand up to rub the stubble on his chin.

“Did you make sense of all Bobby’s research after factoring in the sleep experiments?”  Dean hoped what little he found out about Dr. Gregg had been useful.

“Uh, that plant, silene capensis, is also called African Dream Root.” Derek removed a printout of information about the plant from the file. “Shaman’s and medicine men have been using it for centuries.”

“Let me guess,” Dean slid a chair over so he could sit beside the wolf. “They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, and start kicking around the hackey.”

“No.” Derek scowled at him. “It’s for dream walking. You can enter other people’s dreams. If you take enough of it, you can control them, manipulate them, turn bad dreams good and vice-versa.”

“You can kill someone in their sleep?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Derek nodded. “If the doctor was testing the Dream Root on his patients….”

“Someone could’ve gotten pissed and decided to give him a little dream visit.” The puzzle pieces were beginning to fit now.

“What about my dad?” Derek’s hand inched closer to his father’s. “If the killer came after him, why is he still alive?”

“I don’t know.” Dean was just glad he was. “So how do we find our homicidal sandman?”

“I don’t know. It could be anyone.” Derek’s brows pinched together in frustration. “It’s probably one of the test subjects.”

“It’s possible.” The research Dean had read was sketchy, there was nothing he could really discern from it. “You know, in any other case, I’d be calling Bobby and asking him for help.”

“So why don’t we?”

“What?”

“Let’s go talk to him.” The wolf motioned to Bobby. “We’ll get some Dream Root and get into his head.”

“You wanna go dream walking in your dad’s head? We don’t know what he’s got going on in there.” Not to mention it was a total invasion of privacy. “And we’re fresh out of Dream Root. Unless you know someone can score us some.”

“You’re the ‘professional’ hunter.” Derek crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “Don’t you have some contact that specializes in magical herbs?”

“Okay, I don’t appreciate the sarcasm when you say 'professional.' I am very professional.” He didn’t need some little twerp judging him, just because he wasn’t old and surly like Bobby. “But come to think of it, yes, I might know someone who can get us what we need. Bela Talbot.”

* * *

 

“Okay, I want you to wait in the car.” Donna told him as she unbuckled her seat belt. “You don’t need to see what’s going on in there.”

“It’s a strip club.” Just because Stiles had never been to a strip club, does not mean he didn’t know about the kind of things that went on inside. “I have a pretty good idea of what to expect.”

“This isn’t just a strip club, this is your brothers in a strip club.” Donna clarified as she glared out the windshield. “That is a very different kind of beast.”

“The clubhouse has a stripper pole that is home to several croweaters.” SAMCRO had parties five nights a week, and the pole was always put to use. “I’ve never been to a strip club, but I’ve seen more than a few people in various states of undress in that clubhouse.”

“It worries me, all the things you’ve seen at your age.” She shook her head. “Seriously, though, you do not need to subject yourself to whatever is going on inside this club.”

“You can’t drag the three of them out on your own.” He would bet she could wrangle Opie, she had a certain advantage there, but Jax and Sam were a different story. ”I can handle it.”

“If you say so.” Donna pushed open the car door. “Let’s go.”

Stiles had a feeling he would be eating his words sooner rather than later, though he chose to ignore it as they crossed the parking lot. He was shocked the man at the door let him in when he was so obviously under twenty-one, but he figured it had something to do with Donna slipping him a few bills. He made a mental note to pay her back later with Jax’s money.

When they pushed through the doors into the club, Stiles realized he was very wrong about his assessment about what he could and could not handle. Sometime in the very near future, he was going to have to admit to Donna that she was right about absolutely everything.

“Oh, dear god.” Donna smacked a hand to her forehead as they took in the sights before them.

They spotted Sam first. The teary-eyed bastard was slumped over the bar with a fresh beer in his hands and two scantily clad women cooing at him. At a table a few feet away, Opie had a dancer with him as well. She gyrated on his lap and shook her tasseled nipples in his face, he showed his appreciation with a bright grin and couple ones stuffed into her g-string. And Jax, well, he didn’t have a stripper, of course that was probably because he was the stripper.

Stiles’ big brother was on stage, shaking his ass in only his baggy jeans, his shirts having been lost somewhere at some point. There was sweat and an ungodly amount of glitter covering his bare chest from his collarbone all the way down to his hips, which he was swiveling in time with the beat of the pop song playing over the stereo system. It was when Jax began unbuckling his belt that Stiles threw in the towel and yelled uncle.

“I was wrong. I was very, very wrong.” Stiles clapped his hands over his eyes to blocked horrid sight from view. “I can’t handle this.”

“Go back to the car.” Donna handed him her keys. “Take the crybaby with you. I’ve got Opie and the dancing queen.”

“Yep. I’m going. I’m gone.”

Stiles left the woman to deal with her husband and brother-in-law while he darted off to the bar where Sam was seated. He didn’t waste time words, he just grabbed the hunter by the collar of his jacket and yanked him off the stool, then proceeded to drag him out of the club.

“S-Stiles…” Sam drawled out his name as they shuffled through the parking lot. “Think I messed up.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles couldn’t even work up the will to feign shock. “What’d you do this time?”

“Think I told Jax,” The hunter murmured shamefully. “Think I told him about Dean’s deal.”

“You did _what_?” He used the hold he had on Sam’s jacket to slam him roughly against Donna’s car. “Why would you do that?”

“I di-didn’t tell him, but I told him.” Sam babbled as he sagged against the car door. “Didn’t mean to.”

“One thing, Sam! Dean asked you to do one goddamn thing.” The same thing Dean asked of him and everyone else who knew about the stupid deal. “You couldn’t help yourself, could you? Dean is out of town for five minutes and you spill the one secret he didn’t want told.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Sam argued petulantly. “Didn’t mean to.”

“You know what your problem is?” If he didn’t, Stiles was all too happy to inform him. “Every time something happens to Dean, you find a way to make it about you. Dean gets hurt and somehow you are the one in pain. Dean is going to Hell and all that matters is your guilt and how fucking sad you’re gonna be when he’s gone. He wants to wait to tell the man he loves something important, you swoop in and do it before he can find the right time.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t care.” He didn’t have the energy to care about what Sam meant to do. “Just…just get in the car. I’ll put out that fire in the morning, if Jax remembers anything you said. ‘Cause, you know, he was in an awfully good mood for someone who just found out his boyfriend has an expiration date.”

“He was dancing.” Sam let out a loud and boisterous laugh. “Really, really badly.”

“Yeah.” It was an image Stiles wished to wash from his mind. “I saw.”

* * *

 

Research was pretty much a dead-end. It was just something to pass the time, to keep their minds busy and off Bobby’s condition. They were playing the waiting game really, waiting for a leg up in the case, one that may or may not show up.

“How are you so sure this woman is going to come?” Derek asked as he flipped through the pages of a book. “Is she reliable?”

“She’s a con artist, and a bitch.” Dean’s sneered, his nostrils flaring. “For the record, she said she wasn’t gonna help us.”

“What?” He lifted his gaze to meet the hunter’s, hoping he hadn’t heard that correctly. “Did you call someone else to get what we needed?”

“I don’t know anyone else who can get us Dream Root. I—“ Dean was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. “I’ll get it.”

Derek leaned back in the chair as Dean made his way to the door. The hunter cautiously wrenched it open, revealing a posh brunette woman waiting expectantly.

“Bela,” Dean greeted the woman with contempt. “As I live and breathe.”

“You called me,” Bela pointed out as she sashayed into the room. “Remember?”

“I remember you turning me down.” Dean muttered as he slammed the door shut behind her.

“Who’s the kid?” Bela asked, waving a hand in Derek’s direction. “Did you trade Sam in for a younger model?”

“Did you bring the Dream Root or not?” Derek snapped impatiently, not wanting to waste time with a pointless back and forth with the woman. “That’s the only reason he called you.”

“He’s a testy one, isn’t he?” Bela smirked and took a glass vile from her pocket. “Nasty stuff, not easy to come by.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Dean questioned the woman’s motives.

“What?” Bela fluttered her lashes, trying and failing to appear innocent. “I can’t do a favor now and again?”

“No, you can’t.” Dean snatched the vile from her hands in case she was rethinking her decision to give it to them. “Come on. I wanna know what strings are attached before you attach them.”

“You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?” Bela waited for Dean to nod in confirmation. “Well, I’m doing it for him, not you.”

“Why?”

“He saved my life once, in Flagstaff.” Bela replied as she slipped off her coat. “I screwed up and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?”

“Maybe,” Dean swiveled his head to Derek. “Your special senses picking up anything from her?”

“She’s lying when she says he saved her life.” Derek had picked up on a few upticks in her heartbeat beneath all the false conviction. “She was also lying when she said she screwed up, but not when she said he saved her. He didn’t save her life, but he saved her somehow.”

“You’re not human. Interesting.” Bela commented but elected to change the subject rather than delve into what exactly Derek was. “So, when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere.” Dean sad firmly, leaving no room for argument. “I don’t trust you enough to let you in my car, much less Bobby’s head. No offense.”

“None taken.” The woman brushed off the insult. “It’s 2am. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Get a room.” Dean instructed as he moved to the room safe and began depositing his weapons inside, including his prized Colt. “They got Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on the pay-per-view. You’ll love it.”

“You’re an asshole.” Bela huffed indignantly, turned on her heels, and retreated from the room.

With Bela gone, Derek and Dean set out to make use of the Dream Root. Derek fixed up the concoction while Dean got settled on one of the twin beds.

“Should we dim the lights and sync up _Wizard of Oz_ to _Dark Side of the Moon_?” Dean joked and fluffed his pillows.

“Why?” Derek asked as he sat down on the opposite bed and handed Dean a cup.

“Nevermind.” Dean gave the drink a quick sniff. “So we just knock this back, huh?”

“No, we need this first.” Derek took an envelope from the nightstand and removed a couple strands of grey hair from it. “It’s Dad’s.”

“We have to drink Bobby’s hair?” The hunter cringed, looking squeamish.

“We have to drink some his…body.” Derek figured his hair was the lesser of evils, considering the alternatives.

“Well, guess the hair of the dog is better than other parts of the body.” Dean chuckled and allowed the hair to be deposited into his cup. “Bottoms up.”

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

Taking care of drunks was par for the course when it came to hanging around the club. Stiles had become sort of an expert at it over the years. Dealing with an intoxicated Sam and Jax was easy compared to some of the others, that didn’t make it any less annoying.

“In the toilet, Sam, come on.” Stiles rubbed the younger Winchester’s back as he vomited into the toilet bowl. “Get it all out of your system.”

“Hair.” Sam batted at the long strands falling in his face.

“I’ll get it, hold on.”

While keeping one hand on Sam, Stiles used the other to blindly reach into the counter drawer and grab two neon pink scrunchies he kept there specifically for moments like this. He used one to tie back Sam’s hair, to spare his locks from being drenched in vomit, and left the other around his wrist. He then glanced at his brother and wondered if his hair deserved the consideration, seeing as he was the one to blame for this mess.

“Stiles…” Jax whined as he spit in to the shower stall.

Never one to let his brother suffer for long, Stiles left Sam bent over the toilet and moved to his brother’s side. Jax was draped half-in/half-out of the shower, looking pitiful. He was gentler than Jax deserved as he gathered the blond hair up, making sure he got every strand, and secured it with the remaining scrunchie. Once Jax’s locks were safely out of the crossfire, Stiles took a washcloth from the rack and began wiping the remnants of vomit from around his brother’s mouth.

“You’re an idiot. An idiot covered in a serious amount of glitter.” He hoped his brother liked glitter, because his bathroom would probably never be free of it now. “Why does your default pastime have to be drinking?”

“It’s fun.” Jax forced a weak smile. “Nothing else to do.”

“Read a book. Mow the lawn. Wash your bike. Clean your house once in a while.” There were plenty of other things he could do to pass the time. “I’m sure this little strip club escapade had nothing to do with plying Sam for information you’re not entitled to.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t sound like that.” Jax recoiled, scooting further into the shower. “Don’t be ashamed of me.”

“Stop giving me reasons to be ashamed of you.” Stiles retorted curtly. “Being a criminal isn’t enough for you, you gotta be a drunk too?”

“Stiles,” Donna’s voice pulled his gaze to the doorway. “You remember our conversation earlier about you being a bully?”

“Sometimes I can’t help myself.” And stating facts didn’t necessarily make him a bully. It made him honest. “I’m holding back, okay? I’m saving the good stuff for tomorrow, when he can really hear me.”

“Try not to bludgeon your brother before you put him to bed.” Donna advised him. “It would be detrimental to your cause.”

“See, that’s why I need you. You keep my murderous impulses at bay.” It was an ability very few people had. “You’re my moral compass. Without you, I’m screwed.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere.” Donna’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Except home. I gotta get my husband home before he passes out on me.”

“Okay.” He had things handled with Jax and Sam, he didn’t need her assistance. “Drive safe.”

“Take it easy tonight, even if that means leaving dumb and dumber where they are to sleep it off.” Donna nodded toward the men. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” He promised and turned back to his charges. “You two ready for bed?”

“No bed.” Sam murmured as he wrapped his arms around the toilet and rested his head on the seat. “Sleep here.”

“Your choice. Try not to drown in toilet water if your head slips.” Stiles wasn’t about to move him if he didn’t want to be moved. “Jackson, you sleeping in the shower tonight?”

“No. Take me to bed.” Jax lifted his arms as if he was expecting Stiles to lift him off the floor. “Get me a trash can in case I yak again. Then you can get me a glass a water and some aspirin.”

“Yeah, you’re sleeping in the tub tonight.” Maybe if he asked for any of the stuff he was requesting, Stiles would be more inclined to give it to him, but he was straight up dolling out orders and Stiles didn’t take those. “Unless you can crawl to bed.”

“What?” Jax scowled up at him. “Why?”

“Consider it your punishment for being an idiot.” Really, helping Jax after he put himself in this position would only make Stiles an enabler. “You want to sleep in your own bed? You want your aspirin and water? Get it yourself.”

“Oh, come on, Stiles….” Jax groaned and kicked his feet out like a child. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“If you weren’t a drunk, I wouldn’t have to be an asshole.” It was probably Stiles fault, he should have started weaning Jax off alcohol when Abel was born, but it was the one thing that had slipped his mind. “Tomorrow, we’re dumping all the alcohol in the house.”

“I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Not yet.” It was only a matter of time given the drunks he surrounded himself with. “That’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, I’m going home. Try not to choke on your own vomit while I’m gone.”

* * *

 

“Feel anything?” Dean inquired, lolling his head over the pillow.

“No.” Were they supposed to feel something?

“Maybe we got some bad swag.” Dean grabbed his mug off the bedside table and peered into it. “Wanna take another swig?”

“No.” It probably wouldn’t do them any good. “We should just wait for it to kick in.”

A sudden burst of lightening illuminated the room, jerking Derek’s attention to the motel window. It was dark and gloomy, as if they were in the midst of a storm, a striking change from how clear it had been not long ago.

“When did it start raining?” Derek asked, noting the wets drops on the window were landing oddly, coming from the ground, not the sky. “Raining upside down.”

“What?”

The two of them climbed off the beds and went to the window to investigate. Aside from the rain and lightning bolts, he only thing visible was pitch-black nothingness.

“Bela screwed us.” Dean grumbled irritably. “I bet instead of African Dream Root, she gave us some kind of psychedelic.”

“’Cause dream walking isn’t psychedelic enough.” Derek deadpanned, wondering what Dean expected the experience to be like.

“Still think she screwed us.” Dean turned toward the table where they’d left the remaining Dream Root. “Whoa.”

“What?” Derek tracked the hunter’s eye line to find what was amiss. “Oh.”

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

The motel room they were in had transformed into the living room of a house. It was neat, nicely put together, almost Stepford-like, and yet, it was familiar somehow.

“Okay, I don’t know what’s weirder- the fact that we’re in Bobby’s head,” Dean chortled mirthlessly. “Or that he’s dreaming of _Better Homes & Gardens_.”

“This is Dad’s house.” He wasn’t sure how Dean couldn’t see that. “This is just how it looks clean and uncluttered.”

“If we’re in his house, we must be in his dream.” Dean sighed in relief. “Bobby?”

Dean walked over to the parlor, glancing up the stairs briefly, before meandering to the front windows. The hunter shivered unconsciously as he looked out to the front yard, as if he felt a foreign presence.

“You, uh, you search the house.” Dean instructed him. “I’ll look outside.”

“Okay.” If Derek were with anyone else he might be against splitting up, but he was fully aware that Dean could handle himself. “Yell if you find him or anything, anyone. I’ll hear you no matter where you are on the property.”

“Will do.” Dean gave him a thumbs up as he headed out the front door.

Derek headed to the kitchen to begin his search after determining there was nothing really to look through in the living room. He slid through the kitchen doors and gave the room a quick onceover, finding nothing out of the ordinary. However, when he moved the hallway adjacent to the kitchen he came upon two doors, one on the left, and one further down the hall.

“Dad?” Derek called down the corridor. “Dad, are you here?”

“Who’s out there?” Bobby’s timidly responded from behind the door on the left.

There were long scratch marks on the doorframe, made from human nails from what it looked like. Derek brushed his fingers lightly over the marks before wrapping his fingers around the doorknob to pull it open, only to find it was locked.

“Dad, are you in there?” He whispered against the door.

“Derek?”

“Yeah,” Who the hell call else called him ‘dad’? “It’s me. Open up.”

At Derek’s urging, Bobby hesitantly opened the door and stepped into the hall. He was skittish, twitchy, obviously frightened by something that had happened.

“How in the hell did you find me?” His dad asked, his eyes darting back and forth in a panic.

“A woman Dean knows gave us Dream Root.” Her named was lost to him at the moment.

“Dream Root?” Bobby furrowed his brows. “What?”

“The Dream Root from Dr. Gregg’s experiments.” Derek didn’t understand where the confusion was coming from.

“What the hell are you talking about?” The older man questioned, tensing when the lights of the house began flickering. “Hurry.”

His father roughly grabbed him by the arm and yanked him toward the closet. Derek let himself be dragged along until he saw his father planned to lock them both inside.

“Dad, stop.” Derek jerked out of his hold. “What’s going on?”

“She’s coming.” Bobby declared as the hallway transformed into the kitchen in an instant.

“Who?” The only other person on the property, that Derek knew of, was Dean, and to the best of his knowledge Dean wasn’t a woman. “You’re dreaming, Dad. You know that, right? None of this is real.”

“What are you, crazy?” Bobby’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as terror overtook him. “Does that look made up?”

Derek turned around to see a blonde woman at the mouth of the hallway. There were several stab wounds on her neck and chest, the blood seeped from them and soaked the white dress she wore.

“Dad, who is that?” Derek knew her from somewhere, he just wasn’t sure where. “Who is she?”

“She….” Bobby fought back tears. “She’s my wife.”

“That’s Karen?” With a name to the face, he could recognize her. He’d seen her picture in his father’s house when he was a boy.

“Why Bobby?” The dream version of Karen Singer asked her husband. “Why did you do this to me?”

“I’d rather die myself than hurt you.” Bobby argued weakly, moving around Derek to face his wife.

“But you did hurt me. You shoved that knife into me. Again and again.” Karen touched the wounds on her chest. “You watched me bleed. Watched me die.”

“Dad,” Derek placed a hand on his father’s shoulder to reel him back. “She’s not real.”

“How could you?” Karen continued pleading with her husband for answers.

“You were possessed, baby. You were rabid.” Bobby’s voice shook as he tried to make the apparition of his wife understand. “I didn’t know what I know now. I didn’t know how to save you.”

“You’re lying. You wanted me dead!” She screamed, her voice echoing through the house. “If you’d loved me, you would’ve found a way.”

“I’m sorry.” Bobby apologized through a sob.

“Dad,” Derek grabbed his father more forcefully. “Dad, come on.”

As Karen advanced on them, Derek pulled his father out of harm’s way, dragging him into the living room. He slid the doors closed before the woman could cross the threshold, successfully blocking them from her view for the time being.

“Dad, listen, none of this is real.” Derek repeated his earlier statement, hoping it would sink in. “Karen and this house, it’s just a bad dream.”

“I killed her.” Bobby cried, something Derek had never seen him do before.

“No, you didn’t.” Derek knew his father wasn’t capable of doing something like that, of killing the woman he loved. “It’s a dream. Your mind is playing tricks on you. All you have to do is wake up.”

“Just leave me alone.” The older man cradled his head in his hands. “Let her kill me already.”

“You die in your dream, you die in real life.” At least that was the assumption Derek was working under. “You are not gonna die in here. Not today. I won’t let that happen. You need to wake up. Y-You’re the only family I have left. You _have_ wake up.”

His words seemed to strike a chord with his father, and it was about damn time too.

“I’m dreaming?” Bobby looked up at him, a new clarity in his eyes. “This is a dream?”

“Yeah, it is.” Derek nodded, ignoring the sounds of Karen banging her fists against the living room door. “It’s your dream. Take control of it.”

Bobby took a deep breath and shut his eyes. Derek watched him concentrate on his task and several minutes later Karen’s yells and slams to the door ceased completely. He opened one of the kitchen doors far enough to peek in, and saw that his father’s wife had vanished.

“I don’t believe it.” Bobby said after glancing in the kitchen himself.

“Can you wake up now, please?”

* * *

 

Dean had exited the house through the front door and somehow found himself in the backyard, surrounded by clotheslines. He followed the rows of freshly washed linens drying in the wind until he heard footsteps behind him. He whipped around, hoping to see Bobby or Derek, only to be disappointed when he saw it wasn’t them. It was Jeremy, the kid from Dr. Gregg’s sleep study, tracking him through the yard.

The shock he felt at seeing Jeremy in Bobby’s dream was short lived when the kid swung a bat, hitting Dean square in the chest and shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean gripped his injured shoulder.

“You don’t belong here.” Jeremy stated calmly as he stood over him.

“You’re one to talk.” If anyone didn’t belong there, it was the kid. “You’re in my friend’s head.”

“You got a poor choice in friends.” Jeremy criticized. “This is self-defense. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me.”

“Well, you are killing people.” Dean could see why Bobby would want to hurt the kid. “You’re a murderer. He wanted to stop you.”

“You should be nicer to me.” Jeremy tsked at his attitude. “In here, you’re just an insect. I’m a god.”

Dean lifted an arm to block the oncoming blow as Jeremy raised the bat above his head. Jeremy swung downward and Dean clenched his eyes shut in preparation a hit that never came. His eyes popped open and he found himself once again the motel room, with Derek wide-awake in the bed next to his.

“Whoa.” Dean breathed heavily as he sat up. “I don’t know how the hell we got out of there, but I’m glad we did. That Jeremy kid was about to bash my head in.”

“Dad. Dad did this. He woke up.” Derek vaulted off the bed. “We have to get to the hospital.”

* * *

 

John returned to his office around four in the morning after dealing with a domestic disturbance call on the east side of town. The station was more or less empty, save for a few deputies on the graveyard shift like him. His office, however, was a different story.

His son was stretched across the sofa, his head resting on a ratty old throw pillow that should have been replaced years ago. The windbreaker John had left on the coat rack in the corner was now draped loosely over him, but it did nothing to stop the tremors wracking the boy’s body.

“Hey buddy,” John crouched beside the couch and ran his fingers through his son’s hair until his eyes fluttered open. “I thought you were at Opie’s for the night? What happened?”

“Jax and Opie took Sam out for a night on the town. Donna and I had to pick them up from a strip club.” Stiles groused as he wiped sleep from the corners of his eyes. “She took Opie home. I stayed with Jax and Sam for a little while. Jax was being a dick so I came home.”

“I would have come to get you.” Actually, he might’ve had to send one of his deputies to retrieve his son, but it was better than Stiles trying to drive himself. “Your Jeep is in the garage at home. How’d you get here?”

“I took a bus, then walked from the station.” Stiles murmured. “It’s worth noting that I did not intend to fall asleep here. I sat down to catch my breath and exhaustion took over. I have a vague recollection of Deputy Graeme coming to check on me.”

“She’s probably the one who gave you my jacket.” The same jacket he had only gotten back this morning during his sweater retrieval mission. “Have you eaten today?”

“I had some soup at lunch.”

“Lunch was a while ago. I’ll make you something when we get home.” It would be about breakfast time by the time they made it home anyway. “I’ve got some paper work to do before we go, okay?”

“’Kay.”

“Hey, don’t pass out again just yet. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” John sat on the floor next to the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him, settling in for what could potentially be a long conversation. “Um, I’m not ready to start dating.”

“Um, me neither.” Stiles crinkled his nose. “Where’d that come from?”

“Oh, it was something Piney mentioned earlier.” He would admit it was an odd declaration without the context. “Hold on. Are you really not ready to start dating or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I’m so caught up with everything else that trying to start a relationship with someone would be irresponsible. It’d be one more plate for me to spin.” Stiles anxiously picked at a loose thread on his shirt. “I’m already juggling werewolves and Dean’s secret. Don’t even get me started on Jax and the club. I don’t have the time or energy to start some juvenile high school romance that would inevitably fizzle out when he or she realized my focus and attention would always be elsewhere.”

“Stiles,” John was beginning to see where Piney’s worry regarding his son was coming from. “You shouldn’t give up on things you want because you are too busy dealing with everyone else’s stuff. You are sixteen years old, you need to be sixteen. You need to go out and have fun, make the most out of high school. Hang out with your friends, go on dates, you know, normal teenage stuff.”

“I’m not saying I’ll never date, it’s just not gonna be anytime soon.” Stiles shrugged his shoulders and adjusted the pillow beneath his head. “And when I finally do decide to start a relationship it’s gonna have to be with someone in my circle. An outsider couldn’t possibly understand all the bullshit in my life. Any relationship attempted outside my circle of bikers, werewolves, and hunters is ultimately doomed to fail.”

“I didn’t realize I raised such a pessimist.” He knew early on Stiles would never be an optimist, so he’d tried to raise him to be a realist, apparently he’d failed. “Bikers, hunters, and werewolves, huh? That’s the dating pool you’re limiting yourself to?”

“Juice ain’t looking like such a bad prospect now, is he?” Stiles chuckled. “So, you’re not ready to start dating either. Is it Mom? She’d want you to be happy, Pop. You know she would.”

“It is about your mom.” He twisted the wedding band on his finger. “You know, with the exception of my one-night stand with Gemma, every relationship I’ve ever had lasted years. I dated the same girl all through high school. I met your godmother Kai in boot camp, and we were together until I left the military. After my night with Gemma, the next person I was with was Claudia.”

“You’re a serial monogamist.”

“Yes, I am.” It did seem that way. “I haven’t been with anyone since your mom, because I’m afraid it’ll be a continuation of that pattern, and I’m not ready for that. I don’t think I could ever care for anyone else the way I do Claudia. I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved her, and I don’t want to. What we had was special, I could never have that with another person.”

“I understand, Pop.” Stiles said sympathetically.  “Why would Piney bring up dating with you?”

“He’s afraid that my reluctance to form connections with other people is stunting you emotionally.” Now that they’ve talked about it, he could confirm that old man’s fears. “I think he’s right.”

“I know I’m not…-- that my head, my brain, doesn’t work like other peoples. I don’t feel things the way I’m supposed to. I just talked to Donna about that this morning.” Stiles maneuvered himself into a sitting position. “But it’s not your fault, Dad. It’s just me, it’s how I’m built.”

“I isolated myself after my dad died. I did same thing after we lost your mom.” The difference was, he came out of the darkness after his father passed away, he hadn’t been able to after losing his wife. “It’s a behavior I learned from my dad when I was kid. You learned it from me.”

“I’m not isolated.” Stiles balked at the very idea. “I’m drowning in people. I wish I could isolate myself, maybe then I could have some peace.”

“All those people you’re drowning in aren’t even _your_ people. You have your brother, the club and the Winchesters come with him. They belong to him. You had to take them on. Derek is a Winchester by proxy, so he’s lumped with them. Your friendship with Scott is barely hanging on by a thread.” Come to think of it, as sad as it was, Scott was the only friend Stiles really had by choice. “Don’t take this the wrong way, son, but you suck at making friends.”

“I really do.” The teenager agreed unabashedly. “I think it’s because I don’t really like people."

“Yeah, I don’t either.” Being a sheriff, he saw the worst of people every day, it’s part of what kept him from socializing with them. “That’s why we suck at being friends, we don’t like people.”

“No, no. We are awesome at _being_ friends. We are awesome friends. People can’t get enough of us when we’re their friends. It’s _making_ friends we suck at.” His son corrected. “We are horrible at making friends.”

“And we’re only bad a making friends because we don’t like people.” It was beginning to make sense now. “Why would we want to make friends with people when we don’t like them?”

“Exactly.” Stiles exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

“I’m beginning to wonder if it’s time to go back to the therapist.” Therapy had helped them cope with certain issues in their lives the last time around. “We could get help with our antisocial personalities.”

“He’ll just convince us that we need to go out and make friends.” Stiles said sourly. “I could do that at school, if I really wanted to, but kids at school suck, so I don’t want to. You are the one who needs a friend. I mean, where would you even find one? And work friends don’t count!”

“Piney said he’d be my friend.” He didn’t really have any intention of taking him up on that offer. “But he’s your friend and I don’t want to step on your toes.”

“I can share.”

“You share him with enough people.” Plus, trying to be friends with someone who had been close to his father seemed a little weird. “I can find my own friend.”

“Well, you know, you’re my best friend.” His son admitted sheepishly. “Piney’s my best friend in Charming and Scott is—was my school friend. You’ve always been my _best_ friend, no matter where I am.”

“Oh yeah?” Pride swelled in his chest as a grin tugged at his lips. “For what it’s worth, you’ve been my best friend since the day you were born.”

“I’m your only friend.” And the moment was over.

“Shut up.”

* * *

 

Bobby sighed tiredly as he began sorting through the bundle of research the boys had brought him. It all made a lot more sense now that he had firsthand experience with what could have happened to Dr. Gregg, but all-in-all it told him nothing new. At this point, burying his head in the papers was more to avoid speaking to his son about what he’d seen in his dream world.

“Dad, that stuff that happened,” Derek shifted nervously in his seat. “The stuff with your wife. Did that actually happen?”

“Everybody got into hunting somehow.” A great loss and a subsequent need for revenge was usually what pushed them into it. “A demon possessed her, but I didn’t know about things like that then. I didn’t know they were real. If I knew then what I know now, she would still be alive.”

“I’m sorry.” The younger man dropped his gaze to his hands. “That’s why you killed Peter for me, isn’t it? You didn’t want me to feel the same thing you felt when you killed her.”

“A demon had taken over Karen, it wasn’t really her, but my wife was still in there. Peter had lost his mind, but I still believe somewhere inside of him was who he was before the fire.” They had both seen people they loved turn into monsters. “I couldn’t save Karen and Peter didn’t want to be saved, but you…you could be spared. You didn’t have to lose a piece of yourself by killing a member of your family. It would’ve torn you up inside.”

“I could have handled it.” Derek claimed, jutting his chin out confidently. “But I understand why you didn’t let me. Thanks, I guess.”

“Thank you for getting me out of that place, that dream world.” He would have died in there if not for his son. “You saved my life.”

Derek had always been uncomfortable with praise being directed at him, so the pink tint to his cheeks was to be expected. The kid was given a reprieve of any further compliments when Dean lumbered into the hospital room looking apologetic for having interrupted a moment they were having.

“Hey, uh, stoner boy wasn’t in his room.” Dean told them, irritation lacing his tone. “My guess is he’s long gone by now.”

“He ain’t much of a stoner.” Bobby took a picture of Jeremy out of the file. “He’s a full on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ, which is saying something considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head. Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand. He hasn’t dreamt since.”

“Until he became one of Dr. Gregg’s test subjects.” Derek pointed out. “And he started using the dream drug.”

“Yep.”

“How’d he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?” Dean questioned as he leaned against the footboard of the bed.

“Hey, he was rooting around in my skull.” Bobby had no control over what Jeremy found or decided to use against him. “God knows what he saw in there.”

“How did he get in your head to begin with?” Derek brought up a very good question. “We needed your DNA to do it.”

“Yeah, uh,” This next part was going to paint him as the world’s biggest idiot. “’Fore I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it. Dumbest frigging thing.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “It wasn’t that dumb.”

“You took a drink from him.” Derek deduced incredulously. “Now he can come after either of you.”

“I was thirsty.” Dean tried to justify his stupidity. “We’ll just have to find him before he finds us.”

“We better work fast, and coffee up.” Bobby advised the boys. “The one thing we can’t do is fall asleep.”

* * *

 

** Two Days Later **

* * *

 

Things had been tense between Stiles and Jax since Jax and Sam’s drunken night out. It was Stiles fault, he knew that. He had overreacted when his brother started barking orders at him, but in his defense, he had felt like utter crap at the time. His fault or not, he had refused to apologize for abruptly leaving Jax on the bathroom floor for the night, if only because he was still annoyed that his brother had gotten drunk at all.

Jax had little to no recollection of that night, so he didn’t understand Stiles annoyance. He had spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out what he’d done wrong, much to Stiles chagrin. Jax had been cornering him to get to the bottom things when Dean had called asking for assistance.

Immediately after the call, Jax had decided for everyone, everyone being Stiles and Sam, that they would head to Pittsburg together. Stiles had grudgingly agree to go, as if he had a choice, on the basis that he got to drive the Impala, and drive the Impala he did. He drove the whole fucking way. Of course, he was promptly shoved out of the driver seat the moment he pulled into the motel parking lot.

“I don’t even want to know why _you_ are driving my car.” Dean snarled as he jerked Stiles out of the Impala by his shirt collar. “I don’t even care. I don’t. I just want my baby back.”

“You can have her.” Stiles never had any intention of keeping her. “I like my Jeep better.”

“Do not start with me.” The hunter warned him. “I’m not in the mood for another pissing match over whose car is better.”

“That’s a first.” Stiles had never seen him back down from that particular argument.

“And you two,” Dean ducked his head into the car to speak to its remaining occupants. “One of you can come with me to check out a lead, the other needs to take hike.”

“Jax will go with you.” Stiles took it upon himself to make the decision for the pair. “He and I need a little break from each other. Sam can stay behind.”

“Fine by me.” Dean agreed and slid into the driver’s seat. “Get out, Sammy.”

“O-Okay.”

The younger Winchester was barely free of the car before Dean was backing out of the space and speeding out of the lot. Sam seemed rather offended at being booted from the Impala with little care, if the ugly sneer on his face meant anything. Neither of them had much time to contemplate Dean’s behavior when Bobby was yelling at them.

“Would you idjits get in here?” The old man shouted from the motel room. “Standing out there gaping is just gonna draw attention to yourselves. Attention we don’t need!”

“Yeah, ‘cause your screaming is so discreet.” Stiles muttered under a breath.

Stiles huffed and strode into the room, Sam following behind him. Derek and Bobby were seated at the table near the window, while a longhaired woman in an expensive dress sat cross-legged on one of the beds with a Ouija board out in front of her.

“Um, who….” Stiles was caught off guard by the unknown woman. “Who’s the chick?”

“That’s Bela. Ignore her.” Bobby brushed off the woman’s presence completely. “Grab a book and get to work.”

“Maybe, um,” Stiles shook off the uncomfortable feeling Bela left him with in an effort to focus on something else. “Hey Bobby, maybe you want to give _someone_ a stern talking to first.”

“Ah hell,” Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who did what to who?”

“Dipshit here,” Stiles smacked a fist to Sam’s chest. “Nearly spilled the beans about Dean’s deal to my idiotic brother.”

“Damn it, Sam!”

“I was drunk!” Sam said in a sorry attempt to absolve himself of any wrongdoing. “We both were. It’s not like he remembers anything I said.”

“Why in the hell would you be drinking with Jax anyway?” Bobby glared at the younger Winchester. “What on earth made you think that would be a good idea?”

“It was Jax’s idea.” Sam shifted the blame to the one person who wasn’t in the room. “He thought I needed to relax, so he took me out for a drink.”

“He took you to strip club, thinking the combination of breasts and tequila would open your big mouth, and he was right.” Stiles’ brother may not have been a sharpshooter, but he hit the bull’s eye when it came to turning Sam into a dirty rat. “It was never about relaxation. He doesn’t care if you relax. He doesn’t even like you. He thinks you’re a whiny pretentious ass.”

“All right, that’s enough.” Bobby snapped. “Separate corners. Sam, over here at the table. Stiles, grab a book or the laptop and go sit on the other bed.”

“Nu-uh. I’m not sitting near _Bela_.” Stiles dashed over to the free chair at the table before Sam had a chance to. “Sam can sit over there with her.”

“We’ve only just met, darling.” The woman said sweetly. “What could I have possibly done to you in such a limited amount of time?”

“Nothing.” As far as Stiles knew she hadn’t done anything. “I’m just picking up a really weird vibe from you.”

“A weird vibe?” She raised an unimpressed brow.

“Spark.” Bobby told the woman, pointing a finger at Stiles.

“Ooh.” Bela nodded in understanding. “I do tend to give off ‘weird’ vibes to them.”

“What the hell is a Spark?” Stiles had never heard that term in the way they were using it, and he sure as hell had never been referred to as one.

“Nothing you need to worry about right now.” Bobby shut down the line of questioning. “Get to researching.”

“What am I supposed to be searching for?” Stiles pulled the laptop on the table closer to him. “You already know who the bad guy is and how he’s killing people. What else is there to do besides catch him?”

“We need a way to find Jeremy or keep him out of our damn dreams.” The elder hunter’s impatience was clear in his tone. “Dean and I haven’t slept in two days.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t take beers from strange college students.” Stiles remarked judgmentally as he drummed his fingers over the keyboard. “It’s a dead giveaway to the fact that you’re not really FBI. Also, it’s just stupid.”

“I’ve had about enough of your attitude,” Bobby’s voice was tight with restrained anger. “What is your damn problem tonight?”

“I was just confined to a car, on a cross-country trip, with two obnoxious man-children.” He didn’t even waste time singling Sam out personally, they all knew who he was talking about. “If you and Dean weren’t borderline alcoholics who are incapable of saying ‘no’ to a drink, then I wouldn’t even have to be here.”

“You didn’t have to come at all.”

“He did, actually,” Sam piped up. “Jax made him come with us.”

“Well, if you’re gonna be here, you’re gonna help us.” Bobby tapped a pen to the side of the laptop. “Get to work.”

“Sure. I’ll help you beat your head against the wall. Sounds fun.”

* * *

 

Jax was beginning to think remaining in the car with Dean was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Being in a car Dean was driving, with the hunter’s current mood, was going to be detrimental to his health. The dude was seriously unhinged, agitated and jittery, bordering on manic.

“I mean, this Jeremy guy’s not a friggin’ ghost.” Dean slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “Where the hell could he be?”

“Dean, pull the car over so I can drive.” Jax ordered as he thrusted a hand to the dashboard to steady himself when the Impala swerved dangerously between lanes. “You’re overly caffeinated.”

“Well, thanks for the news flash, Edison!” Dean yelled over the sound of his ringing cellphone. He fumbled the device in his hands as he pressed the ‘call’ and ‘speaker’ buttons. “Tell me you got something, Bobby!”

 _“Strip club was a bust, huh?”_ The older man’s gruff voice filtered over the line.

“Yeah.” Dean’s disappointment was palpable.

“You have anything else for us, Bobby?” Jax asked hopefully.

 _“Nope.”_ The seasoned hunter let them down. _“That was our last lead.”_

“What the hell, Bobby?” Dean shrieked at his cellphone.

 _“Don’t yell at me, boy.”_ Bobby adopted a slightly calmer tone so to not set Dean off further. _“I’m working my ass off here.”_

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just….” Dean clenched his jaw shut to keep from whining. “I’m-I’m tired.”

 _“Well, who ain’t?”_ Bobby snarked, not-so subtly reminding Dean he was in the same boat. _“And before you ask, Bela’s got nothing. Apparently, the spirits aren’t in a chatty mood.”_

“Great! Well, I’m just gonna blow my brains out now!” Dean grunted, flipping his phone closed and tossing it in the backseat. “All right, that’s it. I’m done.”

“What?” Jax flinched as Dean jerked the car haphazardly to the side of the road, pulling off to a small clearing in the woods. “What are you doing?”

“Taking myself a long-overdue nap.” Dean sunk down on the seat, making himself more comfortable.

“No.” Jax knew enough about the case to know sleeping could be fatal. “The kid—Jeremy, can come after you in your dreams.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Of course it is.” Jax should have predicted Dean’s spiral into insanity. “And if I try to stop you?”

“You won’t.” The hunter sounded awfully confident about that. “You know this is the only play. Come on, man, we can’t find him, so let him come to me.”

“You want to take this to his turf?” That sounded monumentally stupid. “Where he’s Freddy-fucking-Krueger?”

“I can handle it.”

“You need DNA to hop into someone’s dream, right?” Jax leaned over and yanked out a few strands of Dean’s hair. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.” Dean rubbed the sore spot on his scalp. “I don’t want you digging around in my head.”

“You afraid I’ll find out your secrets?” The idea hadn’t even crossed Jax’s mind. “Relax. I won’t go poking around. I’m strictly your protection detail. With both of us in there it’ll be two against one.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Dean ceded, and Jax wondered how painful that was for him to admit. “I’ve got some extra Dream Root in my pocket. Let’s mix this crap up and head to lala land.”

* * *

 

Bobby didn’t like being sidelined, especially when one of his boys was in the bad guy’s crosshairs. It couldn’t be helped this time, though. He wasn’t strong enough to face Jeremy after his little coma.

The most he could do was research alternative ways to break the hold Jeremy had on he and Dean. That research was going nowhere, expectedly so, seeing as African Dream Root was rare, and there was very little information on it in the context in which it was being used. The comrades Bobby had enlisted to help him had caught onto the lack of useable data and had given up entirely.

Sam was still hitting the books, but his focus had unsurprisingly veered back to demon deals. Derek and Stiles had abandon their books and laptops in favor of stretching out together on the free bed to watch _Dr. Sexy MD_. Aside from Bobby himself, Bela was the only person still on task.

Bela’s sudden need to help piqued his interest and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He couldn’t help but question why she was really there.

“Let me ask you something,” He addressed the woman. “What are you doing helpin’ us?”

“Bobby, I’m surprised you don’t remember.” She tilted her head to the side. “Flagstaff.”

“Oh.” He tried to make the connection between Bela and Flagstaff, but came up blank. “Yeah. Right. Flagstaff.”

“It’s another half-truth.” Derek chimed in while keeping his eyes pinned to the TV.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause that’s not the reason she’s helping.” Stiles theorized. “It’s true you did her a solid in Flagstaff, but that’s not why she’s here.”

“I loathe teenagers and werewolves.” Bela glowered at the pair who seemed content to ignore her. “I’m helping, that’s all that should matter.”

“Playing with a Ouija board is not helping.” Stiles scoffed at the woman’s claim. “It’s a toy marketed by _Hasbro™_.”

“The Ouija board was not created by _Hasbro™_.” Bela glared daggers at the teenager. “It originated—“

“We don’t need a history lesson about a parlor trick.” Derek interjected, turning the volume up on the television.

“What is it with you guys and that show?” Bobby noted how enthralled the boys seemed to be with the program. “Dean gets the same way when he watches it.”

“It is compelling.” The kids said in unison.

“God, that’s creepy.” It sent chills up Bobby’s spine.

“Jeremy could be walking around in Dean’s dream right now, and you two are watching a soap opera.” Sam leveled the boys with a disapproving stare. “You should be researching, that’s what you’re here for.”

“Are you still researching the Dream Root?” Stiles asked in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

“…Yes.”

“That’s a lie.” Derek called the younger Winchester out for the fib.

“Duh.”

“Don’t start picking on Sam.” Bobby figured it was best to put an end to the bickering before it could really start. “If we were gonna find anything on Jeremy, we would have found it by now. We just have to hope Dean’s got an ace up his sleeve.”

* * *

 

“Dean.” A familiar voice echoed in his head as a fist thumped against his chest. “Dean!”

“Jeez. What?” Dean forced his eyes open, only to realize he was in the exact same place he had been when he’d fallen asleep. “What are we still doing here?”

“I don’t know.” Jax, who had obviously been awake for some time, cast a suspicious glance out the windshield. “There’s something out there.”

“Jeremy.” It had to be the kid, he was the only other person with outside access to Dean’s dreams. “Now’s a good a time as any to kick his ass.”

Dean and Jax climbed out of the car and gave the surrounding area a quick look around. As they moved away from where they’d parked, they were suddenly greeted by a low thrum of music. They followed the sound to a well-lit clearing in the woods and were taken aback by the sight they came upon.

The Impala was sitting on display in all her glory, an impossible feat considering they had left her in the opposite direction. The real shock, however, was the apparition of Jax seated on the hood of the car, with a small bundle in his arms that could only be Abel.

 _“Hey. You gonna sit down?”_ The dream version of Jax shifted the baby in his arms so he could pat the open spot next to him on the hood. _“Come on. We still have a little while before we have to get home and put Abel to bed.”_

Watching the scene unfold, Dean became painfully aware of the real Jax standing beside him. The other man was gazing imploringly at him, looking oddly hopeful.

“I, uh,” Dean cleared his throat pointedly. “I’ve never had this dream before.”

“Oh.” Jax murmured despondently. “I have.”

“Jax…” He didn’t really know what to say to that. “With my job, you know I don’t get to think about the future. I have to live in the present.”

“Right. I get it.” Jax turned away from the apparition of himself, his eyes catching on something in the woods. “Dean, that’s Jeremy, isn’t it?”

The biker didn’t wait for an answer, just took off like a shot in the direction of the bad guy, deep into the woods. Dean ran after him, tried to follow as closely as he could, but lost them in the mess of trees. He turned himself in circles, trying to catch a glimpse of them, only to have the forest disappear and replaced by a short hall with doors on both sides of him.

After a small internal debate, he started for the door at the far end. It began to open on its own volition as he neared it. Upon further inspection, he saw the room was identical to Bobby’s motel. Once inside, he could see a man, whose face was obstructed by shadows, sitting in a chair at the desk.

“Jeremy?” Dean moved closer, hoping to get a better look at him.

The man ignored him and began to click the desk lamp on and off. It was only when Dean’s jaw began to tick in a manifestation of his annoyance that the man finally left the lamp on, and allowed Dean to see who he really was. The man on the other side of the room was _him_.

 _“Hey Dean.”_ His doppelganger smiled and stood from the chair.

“Well, aren’t you a handsome son of a gun.” Dean joked, but it fell on deaf ears.

 _“We need to talk.”_ Dream Dean reported as he started circling Dean in a threatening manner.

“I get it. I get it.” Dean mimed his twin’s movements, circling the apparition to feel less like prey. “I’m my own worst nightmare, is that it? Huh? Kind of like the _Superman III_ junkyard scene? A little mano y mano with myself?”

 _“Joke all you want, smartass. You can’t lie to me. I know the truth.”_ Dream Dean came to a standstill in front of the only door, effectively trapping Dean inside the room. _“I know how dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see.”_

“Sorry, pal. It’s not gonna work.” Dean forced a grin on his lips. “You’re not real.”

 _“Sure I am.”_ The other Dean insisted with a cocky smirk. _“I’m you.”_

“I don’t think so. ‘Cause see, this is my siesta. Not yours.” In this dream, he had control, no one else did. “All I gotta do it snap my fingers and you go bye-bye.”

To prove his point, Dean raised his left hand and snapped his fingers, but nothing happened, the other him did not disappear as he should have. He snapped his fingers four more times with the same results. His bravado began to fall away as the panic set in.

 _“Like I said,”_ Dream Dean lifted his right hand and a shotgun appeared in his grip. _“We need to talk.”_

* * *

 

One minute Jax was chasing Jeremy through the forest, the next he was back in the Impala with Dean slumbering beside him in the driver's seat. If Jax was going to get anything out of being bounced around Dean's head, it would be whiplash.

“Dean. Hey.” Jax lightly punched his sleeping lover in the arm. “Dean, wake up, man.”

He hit Dean twice more before he received a response. As it turned out, the man in the seat beside him was not Dean at all. It was Jeremy sitting content and relaxed behind the Impala’s steering wheel.

Jax barely had time to register the bat in Jeremy’s hands before it was slamming into his stomach. He groaned in pain and pushed the car door open, falling out of it, and landing face-first on the hard ground. The hinges of the driver side door creaked as Jeremy got out of the Impala and traipsed around the car toward him.

“Shit.” Jax rolled onto his back. “Fucking psycho.”

“You’re wrong.” Yeah, that sounded like something a psycho would say.

“Tell that to the guy you killed.” Jax spit at him, crab walking backward to put distance between them. “Dr. Gregg, right?”

“The doc? No, no.” Jeremy shook his head. “The doc’s the one that got me hooked on this stuff and then he took it away. I needed it, and he wouldn’t let me have it.”

“So you killed him.” That made a lot of sense, if you were nuts.

“I can dream again. You know what that’s like, not being able to dream?” Jeremy raised the bat as if he were about to swing. “You never rest, not really. It’s like being awake for fifteen years.”

“And that drove you crazy.” Jax almost felt sorry for him, being awake that long would be enough to drive anyone batshit. “Doesn’t change the fact that you killed a man.”

“I just wanna be left alone.” Jeremy tried to reason with him. “I just wanna dream.”

“Can’t let that happen.” Jax was playing the hunter tonight, which meant he wore the white hat and had a duty to stop the bad guy. “Sorry, bro.”

“Wrong answer.”

A force suddenly pulled Jax flat against the dirt. He tried to sit up, to crawl away, but there were restraints attached to his wrists and ankles holding him in place. He shot a fearful look to his arms and saw he was tied down to railroad spikes.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Jax was really beginning to hate this dream manipulation bullshit.

“I’m getting better and better at this. Stronger and stronger all the time.” Jeremy towered over him. “But you and your boyfriend? You’re not waking up. I’m not gonna let you.”

“Okay, first of all, Dean and I aren’t boyfriends. We are not boys, we’re over thirty. We’re together, let’s just leave it at that.” Hindsight, that probably wasn’t the best thing to get hung up on given his current situation. “Secondly, you can only do all this crap because of the Dream Root. I took the Dream Root too, asshole.”

Jax focused intently on everything Dean had told him about Jeremy and his past. He conjured an image from the file of Jeremy’s father, remembering he was the reason for the kid’s dreamless condition. He almost thought this mind was playing tricks on him when he saw the man standing at the edge of the woods, he hadn’t expected it to work, but he was damn glad that it did.

“Uh-oh, Daddy’s home.” Jax taunted his adversary.

“Jeremy!” The man shouted across the clearing. “Jeremy!”

“No. No….” Jeremy stiffened in fear. “Dad?”

“You answer me when I’m talking to you, boy!” Jeremy’s father snarled, eyes boiling with rage.

“No…” Jeremy backed away from his father, the bat disappearing from his hands the further away he got.

With Jeremy’s focus elsewhere, Jax found himself free from his restraints. He stumbled to his feet, and focused on creating the weapon of his choice out of thin air. He obviously wasn’t as good at the dream thing as Jeremy, because he thought _gun_ and ended up with the same bat the kid had hit him with.

“Eh, close enough.” A weapon was a weapon, he wasn’t going to complain.

A bat could still do some damage when used the right way. Jax’s ‘right way’ turned out to be swinging it directly at Jeremy’s head while the kid was distracted by his father. Jax whacked him with the bat once, then twice, the second hit doing the trick.

The dream world faded away and Jax found himself gasping awake in the Impala. Thankfully, Dean really was in the driver’s seat this time. The hunter was pale and panting, his fingers had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and his body was shaking uncontrollably.

“I don’t deserve to go to hell.” Dean whispered to himself. “I don’t deserve to go to hell.”

“Dean,” Jax spoke softly, not wanting to spook the hunter. “What was that? What are you saying?”

“Uh, what?” Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. “N-Nothing. Nothing. I’m fine. I didn’t say anything. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He was clearly shaken about something, even Jax could see that. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Dean said more firmly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Dean—“

“Don’t, Jackson.” Dean snapped at him as he leaned forward to turn the key in the ignition. “Do not push me, not right now.”

“Okay. Okay.” He would leave it alone, for now. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

It was early morning when they finally got around to loading the cars, or Stiles and Derek did. They were tasked with packing up the Impala and the Chevelle, while everyone else stood outside the motel door chewing on stale donuts and drinking cold coffee. Derek was not pleased about the delegation of duties if his scowl was anything to go by.

“If you’re pissed about the division of labor here, you should let it go.” Stiles advised the wolf. “We’re the youngest, we get shit duty.”

“It still sucks.” Derek grumbled, tossing a duffle bag into the trunk of his dad’s car.

“Hey, anyone seen Bela?” Dean asked the group as he munched on a powdered donut. “She wasn’t in her room earlier, and she’s not answering her phone.”

“She must have taken off or something.” Sam shrugged his shoulders, not bothered by the woman’s absence.

“Just like that?” Dean lifted a brow. “It’s a little weird.”

“Yeah, well, if you ask me what’s weird is why she helped us in the first place.” Bobby commented as he sipped his coffee.

“I thought you saved her life.” Dean mentioned, earning a perplexed look from his uncle. “The thing in Flagstaff.”

“Nope. Derek’s wolfy senses called bullshit on that shit last night.” Stiles informed the hunter, realizing that Dean and Jax had not been present for that portion of the evening. “He did something for her in Flagstaff, but he didn’t save her life.”

“That thing in Flagstaff was an amulet. I gave her a good deal, that’s all.” Bobby revealed, confusing the hell out of his eldest nephew. “You boys better check your pockets.”

“I don’t think he meant that literally.” Stiles remarked when Sam and Dean stuck their hands in their pockets. “Dumb as a box of rocks, both of you.”

“Wait.” Dean froze and turned back to the motel room. “No, no, no.”

The donut and coffee in Dean’s hands hit the sidewalk as he darted into the room. The rest of them remained outside and listened to him rustle things around, scouring the room for what they’d forgotten. It was only after the sound of the safe door ricocheting off the wall echoed out the door that Dean finally made his way back to the cars.

“The Colt.” Sam determined what exactly his brother failed to locate inside the room. “Bela stole the Colt.”

“Damn it, boys!” Bobby exclaimed, looking about ready to pop both of them for letting the gun out of their sight.

“Everyone in the cars!” Dean ordered, harshly slamming the Impala’s trunk closed. “We’re gonna go hunt that bitch down.”

“Well, you have to take me home first.” Stiles had shit to do besides play seek-and-find with one of the Winchester’s many enemies. “I have school.”

“The only gun in existence that can kill _anything_ has been stolen,” Dean said slowly, enunciating each word carefully. “And you’re worried about school?”

“Yeah, unlike the rest of you idiots, I still have a future.” Stiles understood the severity of losing the Colt, but it couldn’t disrupt everyone’s lives.

“You—“ Dean took a menacing step toward him.

“Hey.” Jax moved between them, positioning himself protectively in front of Stiles. “Nu-uh.”

“I will take Stiles and Derek home.” Bobby volunteered as he wrenched open the door to the Chevelle. “But you’re keeping Jax and Sam. Stiles has been snippy with both of them and I won’t have that in my car.”

“Fine. The _men_ will come with me.” Dean motioned to his brother and Jax. “The _children_ will go with you.”

“You can have Jax for three days.” Child or not, Stiles still was the authoritarian in his brother’s life, he was the one who decided how long Jax could afford to be away from Charming. “Three days and you bring him home.”

“A week.” Dean countered in a sad attempt to bargain with him.

“Uh, excuse me,” Jax cut in. “This is my decision, not either of yours."

“Shut up, Jackson.” Stiles wasn’t speaking to him anyway, it was Dean he was negotiating with. “He has Abel to think about. Three days.”

“Three days.” Dean agreed with a nod. “I’ll get him home in three days.”

“See that you do.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Stiles attempt at being a nicer person backfires. [ Stahl puts pressure on those closest to SAMCRO.](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/158810036359/charming-wayward-sons-verse-better-half-stahls) Donna confronts Derek and his new pack after one of the betas assaults Stiles.


	10. Better Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Chris Argent & Agent Stahl  
> Gif Sets: [Stilinski vs. Argent](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/158832707289/charming-wayward-sons-verse-stilinski-vs), [Better Half](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/158810036359/charming-wayward-sons-verse-better-half-stahls), [Good News & Bad News](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/158832834399/charming-wayward-sons-verse-good-news-bad-news).  
> Episodes: [SOA] 1x10 Better Half, [SPN] Post 3x11 Mystery Spot, [TW] 2x02 Shapeshifted & 2x03 Ice Pick.  
> **The song Stiles is singing at the beginning of the chapter is Sedona by Houndmouth. 
> 
> **Okay after rewatching Abomination, I found Stiles actually says what part of the Jeep Erica hit him with, the starter, so I changed it in this chap to match. Sorry about that.

‘’’ _We’re going to California but we’re all out of work,’_ ” Stiles belted out at the top of his lungs, banging his hands on the countertop with the beat. “ _’I guess that’s better than a grave and a hearse!’_ ”

He danced his way around the kitchen as the music flowed from the radio’s speakers. He didn’t stop or slow down, not even to pour his coffee, he was far to energized to allow his mourning routine to restrict him.

“Someone’s feeling better.” His father shouted over the music as he joined him in the kitchen.

“Three days with no fever!” Stile exclaimed excitedly. “I haven’t felt this good in weeks!”

“I’m happy for you.” The older man smiled and flicked off the radio. “I bet the neighbors are too.”

“Hey, Mrs. Bergstein was head-banging along while she tended to her garden.” Stiles waved a hand toward the kitchen window, where he could see the elderly woman trimming the rose bushes planted between the houses.

“Mrs. Bergstein is ninety-five and mostly deaf, but I’m sure that’s true.” His dad chuckled. “I doubt the other neighbors appreciate the music quite as much as she does.”

“I’ll apologize to them later.” He was in such a good mood that he might apologize with cookies, store bought ones anyway. “You weren’t here when I woke up this morning.”

“I left you a note.” His dad tapped a finger to the piece of paper lying beside the coffee pot. “Had an early morning call out.”

“Must have been a bad one if they had to pull the sheriff out of bed.” Of course, since the hunters and werewolves had been seemingly at war over the last several months, those odd hour call outs had become a regular thing. ”What happened?”

“If you must know, we found a dead body, and that is all you get to know for the time being.” His dad shut him down before he could start asking questions about the case. “You can tell me what you know about Isaac Lahey, though.”

“Nothing.” They were classmates, but Stiles couldn’t recall ever speaking to Isaac before. “Is he connected to your case?”

“He wasn’t the body, if that’s what you’re wondering.” His father was quick to reassure him. “He’s just someone we want to speak to.”

“Oh, okay.” That must’ve meant that Isaac was a person of interest in the case. “You want me to try to talk to him at school today?”

“No, the sheriff’s son striking up conversation out of the blue might spook him.” The older man made a good point. “At school, you should focus on school. You know, we talked about you acting your age, now is the time to start.”

“I know. I’m going to.” He wasn’t looking forward to it, but it seemed to mean a lot to his dad, so he figured he’d give it a shot. “Scott wants me to go with him and the girls to the ice rink tomorrow, I thought I might.”

“Scott, huh?” His dad’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I thought you two weren’t really friends anymore.”

“Well, Scott didn’t seem to get the memo.” Stiles received texts from him every day, usually regarding his on-again/off-again/on-again relationship with Allison, like they were still besties who shared stuff like that. “And it’s come to my attention recently that I can be harsh with people, and that I could start being a little nicer. So, I’m gonna try. If that means giving Scott another chance, then so be it. I mean, we’ve been friends a long time, it’s not something I should just throw away. Right?”

“It’s hard to say given everything that’s happened between you these last few months, but if it feels right to you, then you should go for it.” His father reasoned thoughtfully. “So what brought on this ‘be nicer’ thing?”

“Donna,” He still wasn’t quite sure if he should take her words as an insult or not. “She said I was kind of a bully to certain people, like the club.”

“You can be a little judgmental and tactless,” His dad relayed gently. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you a bully. I mean, when you were a little boy, Jax used to dress you in overalls, specifically so he could use the straps to hang you from coat hooks. That I would consider bullying.”

“I’m pretty sure Jax would call that good-natured brotherly torment.” Or at least that’s how it was justified to Stiles as a child, anyway. “Physical torment is brothers being brothers, while my radical honesty about Jax’s life choices is cruel and unacceptable behavior.”

“It doesn’t count as brotherly anything when you were too small to defend yourself,” The older man’s disapproval of his treatment was still as fresh as if it happened yesterday. “I don’t know if you remember, but you only started that radical honesty thing because you couldn’t physically fight back, so you did it verbally. It shocked them to the point where they stopped messing with you.”

“And if I stop doing it, I’ll be leaving myself open for them to start in on me again.” When it came to his brother and SAMCRO, his sharp tongue was his only line of defense, without it, he would weaken his position. “I’ll take the risk, temporarily, at least.”

“For what purpose?” His dad questioned. “It’s a noble endeavor. I’m proud of you for wanting to treat others respectfully, but I’m curious as to why you’re choosing to do it so suddenly.”

“Honestly, part of me is trying to prove Donna wrong.” He loved proving to people that their perception of him was wrong, it was one of his favorite pastimes. “But seeing as Donna is usually right about me, I figure if she’s right about me being a bully and feels strongly enough that she’s bringing it up to me, then it’s something I need to change.”

“Well, I’ve never thought you were a bully. A little too honest about what you thought of people, sure, but that’s not always a bad thing.” His dad squeezed his shoulder. “It’s always good to try to better ourselves. If for you that means being nicer, then I fully support you. I have all the faith in the world in you.”

“I don’t need faith.” He did appreciate the sentiment, though. “I may need a muzzle.”

“You’ll be fine.”

* * *

 

Jax woke up bright and early with one goal in mind: complete Abel’s nursery, once and for all. Technically speaking, the nursery had been done at one time. Unfortunately, it had been done up the way Gemma had seen fit, and had since been dismantled when his mother decided the room needed new carpet and paint. Since those two tasks had been recently finished, the nursery furniture had been thrown back in haphazardly, with no order to the madness.

Seeing as Abel would be coming home in a few days, Jax figured the best course of action was to finally get the baby’s room in order. It was that decision that led to him sitting cross-legged on the nursery floor, surrounded by crib pieces. According to the directions, they were all supposed to fit together, but fuck if he could figure out how.

“This is just...impossible.” There was no way the pieces went together the way the instructions said they did, or Jax would have had the damn thing done an hour ago.

 _“Hey Jax!”_ Dean hollered through the house. _“You here?”_

“Abel’s room!”

He didn’t move to get up and greet the hunter, mainly because he was trapped beneath what was supposed to be his son’s bed. It was easier to just let the other man come to him.

“Whoa.” Dean whistled as he stepped into the room. “Did a tornado blow through this place while I was away?”

“It might as well have.” Jax ignored the nursery items strewn about to focus on the hunter and the dark bags beneath his eyes. “You look fucking awful.”

“Considering I spent the last hundred or so Tuesdays dying in various ways, I’d be surprised if I didn’t look like I was dragged down ten miles of bad road.” Dean sighed and leaned against the doorjam. “Hell, for all I know that could have been one of the ways I died.”

“You died the last hundred Tuesdays?” Jax could not have heard that correctly. “Dean, I was with you two weeks ago, you were very much alive.”

“It was just this last Tuesday looping over and over again for Sam. It was Trickster screwing with him.” Dean explained, seemingly as perplexed by it all as Jax was. “Apparently, I died a different way each time. I was hit by a car once, and attacked by a dog another time. Oh, I had a piano dropped on me!”

“Sounds cartoony.” And fucking horrifying. “Sam all right? Seeing you die couldn’t have been easy for him, even if it was just an illusion or whatever.”

“Oh, he’s in the midst of a breakdown. I sent him to Bobby for a mental health day.”

“Any luck finding the Colt while you were away?” Jax hadn’t actually expected Dean to return to Charming until the Colt was safely back in his possession. “Bela?”

“No, but when I find that bitch, I’ll kill her.” The hunter sneered, his anger at Bela at reaching a record high. “I don’t want to think about that right now, it’ll only piss me off. You gonna tell me what the hell you’re doing?”

“What does it look like?” He thought it was pretty obvious. “I’m putting together a crib.”

“There’s a crib right there.” Dean gestured to the black wrought iron crib pushed against the far wall. “It’s already assembled.”

“That was the one I planned to use for Abel, but you know, it’s kinda old.” It’d been secondhand when he bought it sixteen year ago for Stiles to use when he was a baby. “This one is brand new, and has a better safety rating.”

“Look at you checking safety ratings to make sure your boy’s crib isn’t dangerous.” Dean grinned proudly. “Good job.”

“Yeah, I wish I could take the credit.” Any other time he might, but not in this case. “It was delivered on last Friday, and the same day I got a text from Stiles telling me it’s the best one on the market.”

“Looks expensive.” Dean noted, eyeing the picture on the box it came in.

“Yeah, he must have been saving up for it since we found out Wendy was pregnant.” His little brother always did know how to think ahead. “He bought it, but I’m the one who has to figure out how to put it together.”

“You’ve got directions, I suggest you follow them.” The hunter advised in a snarky tone. “That’s what they are there for.”

“Yeah, thanks, smart ass. I hadn’t thought of that.” Where would he be without such sage advice? “You just gonna stand there and gawk, or are you gonna help me?”

“What in the hell do I know about putting together a crib?” Dean groused even as he sat down beside him on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Well, we have directions,” Jax picked them up off the floor just so he could throw them in Dean’s face. “I suggest we follow them, that’s what they are there for. Isn’t that what you just said?”

“I said _you_ , not _we_.” The hunter reminded him. “But we both know if it’s not a Harley or motorcycle of some kind, you don’t know shit about putting it together. If I don’t help you, Abel’s gonna be sleeping in that death trap iron crib.”

“Hey, that’s not a death trap.” Despite its age, it was still safe and sturdy. “Abel would be perfectly comfortable in it.”

“So why are you bothering to put together this new one?”

“It’s safer.” And his son’s safety was his main priority.

“What’s the other reason?”

“I don’t want Stiles to give him his disappointed face when he comes home and sees it’s not put together.” There’s nothing he hated more than his little brother’s disappointed face, it was somehow worse than Gemma and Piney’s combined. “If I don’t put it together, he will the next time he’s here. He already paid for it, that’s doing more than enough.”

“So, your mom bought the new carpet and paint job. Your brother bought a top of the line crib.” Dean took stock of the recent additions to the room. “What is your contribution to the nursery?”

“The infant that will sleep here.” Jax deadpanned. “And that motorcycle print hanging above the changing table.”

“And you wonder why Stiles took initiative with the crib.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

 

Bobby had been reluctant to venture to the subway station and check in on Derek. He understood his son needed space, and he was trying to respect that. However, after a week of radio silence, he felt compelled to make the trip, needing to see that Derek was all right with his own two eyes.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting to find when he got there. He would bank on his son to either be sitting in a dark corner brooding, or splayed out in an uncomfortable chair with a book in his lap. Neither proved true this time around, when his son was actually crouched beside an old chest that had a triskelion burned onto the lid.

“That case belonged to your mother.” Bobby mentioned as he descended the steps. “She told me once that her mama passed it down to her. I think it was an heirloom, given to the women in the family.”

“The alphas. It’s passed down from alpha-to-alpha in our family.” Derek corrected as he continued inventorying the chest. “The born alphas in our family have always been women.”

“Right.” He remembered Talia telling him that once too. Having multiple generations of powerful female leaders was something that set the Hales apart from other packs. “I’m surprised it survived the fire.”

“It was in the vault, not the house.” His son said impatiently. “What are you doing here, Dad?”

“You haven’t been to the loft in days.” Bobby would have assumed he’d return at some point for a fresh change of clothes or a shower, but he never had. “I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” That’s why he was hiding out. “So, I got a question for you.”

“Okay.” Derek closed to chest lid and stood up to his full height. “What is it?”

“Your, uh, alpha status is still pretty new.” Bobby carefully broached the topic. “I know it’s different than being a beta. It’s more power, different instincts. I’m just wondering how you’re handling it.”

“I’m not turning into Peter, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Derek muttered defensively. “I’m not going to start biting people without their consent.”

“I never thought you were.” Bobby didn’t’ believe his son had it in him to hurt someone that way. “I am curious as to whether you plan to turn someone if they give you their consent.”

“I need a pack.” The wolf remarked impassively. “I’ll give the bite to those who need it, not just the ones who want it.”

“That’s good, I guess.” He was glad to know the kid had some sort of standards when it came to whom he would allow in his pack. “With the Argents still in town, you have to be careful building your pack, Derek. They could perceive it as a threat.”

“I don’t care about the Argents.” Derek snarled, his eyes shining red.

“Well, your new pack is going to when the Argents start hunting them down just to get a rise out of you.” He had to wonder if his son had really thought this through. “Anyone you turn will have a target on their back. They need to know that before they accept the bite, so they can decide if it’s something they can handle.”

“I know that.” Derek grumbled and turned away. “I’ll tell them.”

“You mean, you haven’t told the _child_ you already bit?” Bobby questioned as he removed his cellphone from his jacket pocket.

“What?” The alpha tensed and glanced over his shoulder at him. “What child?”

“The teenager, Isaac something.” He gave the text still open on his screen a brief look. “ _Lahey_. Isaac Lahey.”

“How do you know about Isaac?”

“Apparently, the McCall kid sniffed him out at school, shortly before Stilinski pulled him in for questioning regarding his father’s murder.” Bobby really hoped the Lahey kid didn’t tear apart his father after his little transformation, or the target on his back would get a hell of a lot bigger. “Stiles texted me about it on my way over. He thought maybe it’s something I should know about. He also wanted to warn us that the Argents have begun their official takeover of Beacon Hills.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Derek asked as he picked his leather jacket up off the chair and slipped it on.

“The principal at the high school quit abruptly, and Gerard Argent has replaced him.” It had all happened seemingly overnight. “If you’re planning to build your pack out of teenagers, which I do not recommend for a number of reasons, then you should know that Enemy #1 will have complete access to them on a daily basis, as if his granddaughter being their classmate wasn’t problematic enough.”

“I’m not worried about some old man. I can handle him.” Derek wrongly spoke like someone who did not have firsthand knowledge of just how evil Gerard could be. “Right now, I need to go talk to Isaac.”

“Stilinski has him at the station.”

“Then I’m going to the station.”

* * *

 

Opie wasn’t usually the type to back down from a fight, to tuck tail and run, but under certain circumstances exceptions could be made. Those circumstances always seemed to involve his wife. Donna was the one person in the world he couldn’t bear to fight with, mainly because it was incredibly hard to win when she was almost always right.

He never ran to the clubhouse when walked out during their spats, he wouldn’t afford her that satisfaction. Normally, he’d just take a long ride on his bike and return home a few hours later, acting as if nothing ever happened. On rare occasions, he found himself in need of the companionship of a friend, so he could talk it all out with someone who would assure him that he was not at all selfish for choosing his loyalty to the club over what was best for his family. More often than not, during those rare occasions, he found himself at Jax’s house, and this time was no different.

“So what happened?” Jax asked as he handed him a beer.

“Same old shit.” He and Donna had been stuck on a loop of the same argument since he was released from prison. “She wants me to earn legit and be at home to spend more time with the kids.”

“How unreasonable of her,” Dean rolled his eyes, making light of Opie’s predicament. “Not wanting to feed her children and pay her bills with blood money.“

“The guy whose main source of income is credit card scams is judging how I earn my money?” Opie scoffed at the nerve of the hunter. “You know your boyfriend earns the same way I do.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t bother me the same way it does your wife.” Dean shot back as he took a long pull off his beer.

“Donna’s just worried about you going back to jail.” Jax reasoned as he took the open spot on the sofa, strategically placing himself between Dean and Opie. “She doesn’t want to raise the kids by herself.”

“I don’t want that either. I’ve got no plans to go back to jail.” He had already spent five years of his life in a cage, away from his family, he’d die before he went back. “She doesn’t seem to believe me when I tell her that.”

“When this ATF shit dies down, you should take Donna and the kids away for the weekend.” Jax suggested. “Maybe a family vacation will do you guys some good, help soothe Donna’s fears.”

“It’s a good idea, but it won’t do any good.” It was a short-term solution that would help nothing in the long run. “We’d be good for the weekend, but as soon as we got home, it’d all start up again.”

“Sorry, bro.” Jax offered him a sympathetic smile. “You guys have been together since high school, I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

“Donna and me, we’re solid when there’s someone between us, the kids, Pop, someone,” Opie sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “Since I got out, when it’s just her and I, it’s like all we do is fight. We fight and fight about the same shit. We just can’t get past it. Eventually she’s just gonna get tired of arguing, and she’s gonna take the kids and leave me.”

“She won’t do that because she wants to, she loves you too much for that.” Jax insisted. “She’ll do it because she believes she has no other choice.”

“She knows I’m the one with a choice.” He could choose his family or the club, he couldn’t have both. “She’ll leave when she’s certain I won’t choose her.”

“So make sure she never gets certain.” Dean retorted. “Split your time. Choose her and the kids over SAMCRO once in a while. Show her she comes first, that your family’s a priority.”

“It’s not that easy.” He had tried, multiple times, to make plans with his wife and children, but he was always forced to cancel at the last minute. “You know that every time we’re supposed to have a date night, I get called away by the club. Pop or Stiles have to take my place at dinner, usually Stiles, ‘cause Pop gets called to the table with me. Our little brother goes on dates with my wife, _regularly_.”

“Well, before Claudia came along, when Stiles was toddler and Donna was the only woman he’d let be affectionate with him, we always joked that one day he would steal her away from you.” Jax recalled nostalgically. “He’s finally doing it. His thing for Juice is just a ruse, a trick intended to throw us off his real target: Donna.”

“You have a very active and disturbing imagination.” Dean cringed and proceeded to scoot as far away from Jax as the couch would allow. “Thinking Mama Bear and her cub are carrying out some kind of secret affair.”

“Oh, it was a joke.” Jax flipped the hunter off.

“Not a good one, you sick fuck.” Opie slugged his VP in the arm. “No talking about my wife having an affair with _anyone_.”

“Better make sure she’s satisfied at home, then.” Dean waggled his brows coyly. “Can’t do that if you’re over here, moping over a fight you two had. You should go home and grovel, then get on with the makeup sex.”

“That’s actually a good idea.” There was no lack of astonishment in Jax’s voice. “You should take that advice, Ope.”

“Yep, I am. I’m going.”

* * *

 

Stiles made a habit of bringing his dad dinner when he worked the night shift. If he didn’t, he knew his father would wind up eating some grease-filled monstrosity that would clog his arteries, leading to an early death. He was never wrong when it came to his father’s eating habits, never.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles shrieked and leaned over the desk to snatch the takeout bag from his father’s hands.

“Hey!” The older man made a valiant yet pointless effort to keep hold of the sack.

“What is this? Hmm?” Stiles peered into the bag to see what exactly his dad thought he was having for dinner. “Tacos. Fast food tacos. Are you crazy?”

“I’m hungry.” His dad claimed petulantly, making another attempt at retrieving his food. “That is my dinner, give it to me.”

“No, this is _my_ dinner.” He held the bag closer to himself and dropped a tupperware container on the desk. “ _You_ are having tofu meatloaf.”

“Oh gross,” John gagged, laying his disgust on thick. “I thought you were trying to be nicer to people. Does that not extend to your father? ‘Cause you know, making me eat something that looks like it vomited up and thrown in a bowl, is not nice.”

“It extends to you, not your eating habits.” Stiles had to draw the line somewhere. “I am trying to prolong your life by making you eat healthier.”

“How come you don’t eat healthier?” His father raised an inquisitive brow. “You eat all the crap you never let me eat.”

“I’m younger than you.” He hadn’t lived long enough to put a considerable strain on his body. “I get at least twenty more years before I’m on a strict diet as well.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” His dad pouted and grudgingly accepted his container of meatloaf. “Sit down, we can eat together.”

“Yeah, I will. Hold on, my phones vibrating.” He slipped his phone out of his back pocket, noticing the blinking notification light signaling a new message. “I got a text.”

“A teenager with a text message, I’m shocked.”

“From Allison.”  Stiles grumbled as he opened the text and read it aloud. “ _’Hunter coming for Isaac. Dressed as a deputy. Injured leg.’_ ”

“An injured hunter, posing as a deputy, is coming here for Isaac?” His dad calmly stood from his chair and made his way around the desk. “Stiles, I want you to stay in here and lock the door.”

“Uh, okay.” Stiles couldn’t promise to comply with all of that, but he could agree to some of it. “Be careful.”

His dad un-holstered his gun and cautiously stepped out of the office, closing the door behind himself. Stiles began nervously pacing the length of the room, debating disobeying his father’s orders and following him out. As if somehow sensing this, his dad suddenly pushed the door open, only to shove Derek Hale through it.

“You stay in here with him,” His father instructed the wolf in his no-bullshit sheriff voice. “Do not come out until I come get you.”

“I need to see Isaac.” Derek argued, trying uselessly to sidestep around the older man.

“There is a hunter on his way to apprehend or kill your new wolf friend.” John informed them. “The last I checked, hunters were human. He’s _human_ , coming after someone in my community, and dressed as one of my deputies, that makes him _my_ problem. You two are going to listen for once, and stay put.”

The sheriff slammed the door closed, eliminating the possibility of further protest. Derek punched a fist against the door, looking ready to rip it off its hinges.

“We’re not staying in here.” The wolf growled. “Right?”

“Yeah, dude, we are.” Stiles didn’t like it anymore than he did. “Relax, okay? Isaac is safely locked away in a holding cell, and my dad has the element of surprise with the hunter. Everything will be fine.”

“Why are you so calm about this?” Derek glowered at him. “A trained killer is infiltrating the building with the intent to take out anyone who gets between him and his target. You’re not worried about him hurting your dad?”

“Of course I am, but my dad’s a cop, fear of some asshole hurting him is something I’ve lived with my entire life.” It was a fear he had already assimilated into his daily routine. “Now, if it were a werewolf or some other supernatural creature, then sure, I’d be freaking out, and I’d have begged him not to go out there. This guy, though, the hunter, he’s only human, and my dad deals with the worst kinds of humans every single day. He can handle it.”

“You sound awfully confident.” Derek noted condescendingly. “Aren’t you a little too old to think you’re dad is Superman?”

“If I didn’t trust his abilities, I would have a panic attack every time he left for work or was late coming home.” He had mostly grown out of that as a child. “He’s been a cop for a long time, he’s more than capable of dealing with some douchebag hunter.”

“But not a werewolf or any other supernatural creature?”

“He’s not trained to deal with those things.” If he were, maybe Stiles would feel differently about it. “Your dad could train him, but then he would think every supernatural problem in this town was his responsibility, and he would seek them out to deal with it himself.”

“You don’t think he already feels that responsibility?” Derek questioned, finally removing his hands from the door. “Being a sheriff in a town like Beacon Hills and all.”

“Currently, your dad and the Winchesters take care of those problems, so he doesn’t have to.” To the best of Stiles knowledge, his dad hadn’t attempted to take those matters into his own hands before the Singer-Winchester brood came to town. “Since I don’t see them leaving for more than a few days at a time, I think it’s safe to say they’ve got that area covered.”

“What if your dad wants to learn how to handle supernatural stuff?” The wolf asked curiously. “So he can deal with it when the resident hunters are out of town.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Stiles would not allow that under any circumstances. “He’s not a hunter. He’s a sheriff. That is the way it has always been, and the way it’ll stay.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a little controlling?”

“Yes, it’s something I’m working on.” Although, to be fair, he wasn’t working very hard.

 _“Boys,”_ His dad’s voice filtered through the door as it swung open. “It’s okay to come out now.”

“Argent’s hunter?” Derek cast a suspicious glance into the bullpen.

“In a cell.” The sheriff waved a hand down the hall toward the holding area. “You can go back and see Isaac. I’ll see about getting him released in a little while.”

“Thanks.” Derek said gratefully before he was out the door.

“You okay, Pop?” Stiles gave his father a quick once-over, checking for injuries.

“I’m fine, Stiles.” His dad assured him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, of course.” He wasn’t the one in danger. “You’re never becoming a hunter, you know that, right?”

“I had no plans to become a hunter, and neither do you.”

“Well, duh.”

* * *

 

When Derek was a kid, still learning control, and would lose his temper, his mother would take him for a long run deep into the woods. The run was supposed to calm him down, while the walk home gave him time to assess why he had lost control in the first place. He hoped the same process would work on Isaac.

“You can’t give in to your wolf the way you did tonight,” Derek chastised his beta as they trotted through the forest. “Snapping at Stilinski when you were being released was a bad idea, one of the other deputies could have seen your eyes or fangs.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Isaac bowed his head in shame. “I couldn’t control it, it just happened.”

“You’ll learn to control it, I’ll teach you.” Derek wasn’t sure how he would do that, but he would figure it out. “You should try to focus on something that calms you.”

“Easier said than done.” Isaac grumbled. “Are you taking me to your old house?”

“Yeah.” He’d stashed some supplies there for full moon nights. “We’re gonna grab a few bottles of water I left inside, and then head back to the subway station.”

“That might be a problem.” Isaac nodded toward the property. “It’s already occupied.”

Derek followed the kid’s line of sight to see two cars parked out the house, on what used to be the front lawn. There was no one outside, but Derek would hear three distinct heartbeats coming from inside the house, one beating considerably faster than the others. There was a voice too, something loud and mechanical that echoed off the walls.

Derek motioned for Isaac to stay quiet as they crouched low and moved in for a closer look. As they neared the house, Derek could make out a females muffled shouts, and a man’s grunting, followed by the load snap of something breaking. Suddenly, the cries, grunting, and mechanical voice ceased entirely, and were replaced by something human and recognizable.

_“One bite and everything changes.”_

“Argent.” Derek snarled, his hackles rising at the thought of that family once again invading his home like it was their own.

 _“Is this how we’re gonna do father/daughter talks now?”_ Allison’s betrayed, hoarse voice joined her fathers.

“Are they here to kill you?” Isaac hesitantly asked. “Or capture you?”

“I don’t think so.” Derek hadn’t been back to his old house much since the night Peter died, if they were looking for him there, they were shit out of luck.

 _“No, this is how we’re going to train you.”_ Chris told his daughter. _“Do you know why we use arrows? They can’t heal until it’s taken out.”_

“I think I can see inside.” Isaac whispered as he crept closer to the house, peeking through a broken window.

“Be careful.” Derek urged the younger wolf. “They’ve already tried to kill you once tonight.”

“There are two guys, Mr. Argent and another guy who looks about your age. Allison, she’s um, she’s tied to a chair.” Isaac relayed, a pensive expression marring his features. “Is her dad going to hurt her?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking.” Derek doubted Chris even saw anything wrong with what he was doing to his own kid. “This is step one in turning her into what they are.”

“Murderers.” Isaac glanced through the window once more, before ducking down quickly. “They’re leaving.”

Argent and his lackey were the only ones to exit the house, leaving Allison alone inside. Chris took a moment to give his fellow hunter a few instructions, and then climbed in his SUV and left. The younger hunter perched against the remaining vehicle and began twirling a knife in his hands to pass the time.

“Allison is still in there, tied up.” Isaac glared at the dimming headlights of the elder Argent’s car. “He’s just gonna leave her out here?”

“Looks like it.” It was real A+ parenting, in Derek’s opinion. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“Y-You’re not gonna help her?” Isaac faltered. “Her family’s shitty, mine was too, but that doesn’t mean she is.”

“She’d rather shoot us than accept our help. We could untie her, tell her we’re not there to hurt her, and as soon as she was free she’d stab us in the back.” That was only if her friend by the car didn’t come in and shoot them first. “She’s not our problem. She’s a teenage girl being held against her will, at her father’s request. That makes her the sheriff’s problem.”

“The sheriff?”

“Yep.” Derek took out his cellphone as they trekked away from the house and into the forest. “Kidnapping falls under his jurisdiction. I’ll call him, tell him what we saw, and he’ll race out here to the rescue. Allison will be fine.”

“She’ll cover for her dad.” Isaac predicted like someone who had done so many times for his own father. “Even if we tell Stilinski we saw Chris Argent out here, Allison will lie, she could even claim you are the one who brought her out here.”

“Stilinski will believe me over her.” Plus, he had legal documents attesting to the Argents harassing him, not the other way around. “He may not be able to hold Chris indefinitely, but he can keep him there a while, at least for questioning.”

“Why do the Argents have such a hard-on for your house?”

“They’ve killed the most people here.” Derek was certain the number of people who burned in his home was a record for the Argent family. “It’s sacred to them.”

“Do you ever want to kill them, for revenge?”

“Yeah.” He had pictured it in his mind a thousand times since the fire. “But it wouldn’t bring my family back.”

* * *

 

Jax arrived at the Stilinski house a little after six a.m., with a takeout bag full of breakfast foods in tow. He found his little brother curled up in the recliner in the living room, a travel mug balanced precariously between his legs. The kid was more of less dressed for school, except he was missing one key component.

“Hey bud,” He nudged the younger man’s sock covered foot. “You forgot to put on one of your shoes.”

“Hmm?” Stiles lazily dragged his gaze to his feet, his eyes going wide when he saw he was in fact missing a single shoe. “Huh. Must’ve left it upstairs.”

“Are you stoned or just tired?” Jax questioned as he sat down on the couch.

“Both.” Stiles gave him a cheeky grin. “Did I know you were coming over?”

“Nope.” Jax just wanted to surprise his brother, he was nice like that. “Brought you breakfast.”

“Thanks.”

“Pancakes, bacon, sausage, eggs, and hash browns for you,” More commonly known in the Stilinski household as a heart attack special. “And a fruit salad for your dad.”

“Dad’s at work.” Stiles mentioned as he took the proffered bag of food. “I’ll put it in the fridge for him for when he gets home.”

“Did he have an early shift or is he coming off the night shift?”

“Both, actually.” Stiles set his cup on the coffee table and took a styrofoam container of takeout food from the bag. “He came off the nightshift, but was called back in an hour ago.”

“Oh.” Jax didn’t envy the sheriff’s sporadic work hours. “So, uh, Bobby told Dean about the Argents sending a hunter to the station last night. Why didn’t you call to let me know what was going on?”

“It was under control.” Stiles shrugged. “Nothing you needed to worry about.”

“Look, kid, I know you’re still pissed at me for something I said or did while I was drunk,” Jax really wished he could remember what it was, so he could fix it. “But that’s no excuse for you keeping me out of the loop.”

“I wasn’t keeping you out of the loop, not intentionally anyway.” Stiles mumbled as he fidgeted with the styrofoam lid. “It happened last night. I haven’t had the chance to tell you anything.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I’m not pissed at you for anything. You didn’t do anything.” His brother claimed, biting the inside of his cheek anxiously. “It was me. I was the asshole. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t remember you saying or doing anything.” Granted, he didn’t remember much from that night. “I know I can be a prick when I’m drunk, so whatever it is you think you did, I probably deserved it.”

“Maybe.” Stiles set the container of food aside without opening it up or taking a bite. “Jax, you understand that you can’t be doing things like that when Abel comes home, right? Getting drunk on a weekday, spending the night puking all over your bathroom, and waking up in the morning with a bad hangover. That can’t keep happening.”

“Yeah, Stiles, I know.” He would have to cut way down on his partying when his son was released from the hospital. “You understand that I’m not an alcoholic, right?”

“Neither is my dad, but I still remember him hitting the bottle a little harder than usual after Mom died.” His brother’s gaze found what used to be the liquor cabinet, sitting in the corner of the dining room. The cabinet had been repurposed years ago to store a collection of old books. “He usually kept it to when I was in Charming with you, so I didn’t have to see him that way. Abel doesn’t need to see you that way, it would only scare him.”

“I will never let him see me that way.” Jax promised his little brother. “I won’t.”

“If you want to go out and party, just leave Abel with me for the night.” Stiles volunteered himself for babysitting duty. “When you need a break, I’ll watch him.”

“Okay.” Jax could agree to those terms. “Are we good now? You over this ‘we need a break from each other’ crap?”

“Yeah, Jax, we’re good.” Stiles smiled softly. “So aside from bringing me food, what are your plans for the day?”

“Laying low.” That may or may not have been part of reason Jax had retreated to Beacon Hills for the morning. “Stahl’s been watching us closer than usual. I think she’s planning something that’s gonna go down soon.”

“If that’s true, she must think she has something on you.”

“Yep.” He just needed to know what exactly that was.

* * *

 

If there was one thing John hated about his job, it was seeing hurt kids. It was only worse when the person who hurt them was a member of their own family. Children were supposed to be cherished and cared for, not mentally and physically abused and terrorized by their mothers and fathers or other close relatives. John had a special kind of hate in his heart for parents who hurt their kids, and he seemed to be dealing with them a lot lately.

First it was, the now deceased, Mr. Lahey, who would beat his son Isaac and lock him in a freezer, John had learned recently. As bad as it sounded, if the evidence suggested Isaac had been the one to kill his father, John wouldn’t have blamed him for it. The dark part of him took a little pleasure in the poetic justice of the way Mr. Lahey had been killed, and took comfort in the fact that Isaac was free of his tormenter.

A child who was not free, however, was Allison Argent. An ‘anonymous tip’ had led John to the old Hale house, just before dawn, where he had found the girl restrained to a chair, uselessly trying to cut the ropes binding her arms with a silver arrowhead. While John was fully aware of who had put her there, thanks to that tip from a concerned citizen, it took some prodding to get the girl to admit anything, and once she did, all she gave him was half-truths and flat out lies.

Allison had confessed to being taken against her will after filling up her car, but claimed to have absolutely no idea _who_ had grabbed her or _why_. John already knew the who, but he would have preferred she told him rather than protect the perpetrator. After an hour and a half of trying to convince her to be honest, he finally gave up and sent her on her way, saving his questions for the person who really needed to answer them.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Chris Argent stalked into his office without so much as a courtesy knock on the door. “I was told my daughter was here.”

“I had a deputy take her to school a little while ago.” He didn’t think the girl needed to witness this particular confrontation. “Have a seat, Mr. Argent.”

“I think I’ll stand.” The hunter crossed his arms over his chest. “What seems to be the problem, Sheriff?”

“You had your daughter abducted from a gas station. You had her taken to the Hale house and tied to a chair.” John couldn’t begin to imagine how a parent could do that to their own child. “And you left her there to find her own way out. Could you see how I might have a problem with that?”

“What I do with my daughter is none of your business.”

“It is, actually.” He was the sheriff, everyone within the city limits was his responsibility. “When you endanger your child, that is my business. It’s my job to keep the citizens of this town safe, even from their parents.”

“I was not endangering her. I was training her.” Argent argued indignantly. “You’re a cop, you know the dangers kids face, especially in a town like Beacon Hills. You can’t tell me you haven’t taught your son what do if he’s kidnapped and put in restraints.”

“Of course I have, but it was at our house, in a controlled environment.” He was there every second, he did not just abandon Stiles in the woods in the dead of night. “It was not out in the middle of nowhere, in a house that was quite literally falling apart. If a piece of falling debris did not severely injure or kill your daughter, then something else hiding in those woods could have.”

“Like Derek Hale,” Chris sneered. “He does have a grudge against my family.”

“Yet, your family is always the one attacking him.” Nearly every incident between the Hale and Argent families had been instigated by the Argents. “I was actually talking about all the other packs your family has tried to wipe out. I’m sure there’s a survivor or two who would love to get revenge on you, and your daughter is the perfect way to do it. You left her in the preserve, all alone, restrained to a chair, pretty much offering her up as a sacrifice for your sins. Did you think about that at all?”

“She wasn’t alone.” Chris said through gritted teeth. “I left an associate of mine out there to take her home.”

“Well, he wasn’t there when I showed up.” Either he never was there, or he had bolted not long after Chris had. “She was by herself in the same house where her aunt murdered a family, on the same property where she watched her aunt have her throat slashed. The psychological ramifications alone are going to earn her a lifetime worth of therapy. I guess you weren’t thinking about that when you had her abducted.”

“You know what, I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Argent declared defensively.

“You do, actually.” And John wasn’t the only one the hunter had to justify the mess to. “You _will_ explain your actions, not only to me, but to Child Protective Services.”

“You called CPS?”

“Yes, I did.” It was protocol when he found a child was not safe with their family. “They will be opening an investigation to determine if you and your wife are fit to care for your daughter, and if your home is a safe environment for her. They’ll be contacting you very soon.”

“It’s not a good idea to mess with a man’s family.” Chris braced himself on the desk, laying his palms flat, so he could look down his nose at him. “Especially when your own child makes a habit of running with dangerous crowds. Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Sheriff?”

“Oh, I think I do.” John leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers together on his lap to appear casual and nonplused. “But why don’t you explain it to me.”

“When you hang out with werewolves and outlaw biker gangs, as your son does,” Chris skimmed a finger over the framed photo of Stiles sitting on the desk. “Bad things can happen. It’d be a shame if your son was injured or worse on his way home from school, or while he was home alone, on one of those many nights you worked late.”

“Stiles has been a cops kid his entire life. I’ve been _training_ him since he could walk for the possibility of someone I previously arrested trying to use him to get revenge.” It hadn’t happened yet, but John always knew it could and wanted his son to be prepared if it did. “He is perfectly capable of protecting himself from criminals, werewolves, and hunters. I wouldn’t underestimate him, if I were you.”

“I’m not scared of your clumsy, spastic son.”

“You don’t have to be scared of him.” His son was not the one he’d be dealing with. “’Cause if you or one of your henchmen take a step near my kid in a threatening manner, by the time I’m done with you my badge won’t mean a damn thing.”

“Are you threatening _me_ , Sheriff?” Argent scoffed, not even pretending to take him seriously.

“I was a soldier long before I was a cop, Mr. Argent. I did things in combat that I swore I’d never do again,” His activities during the war were not something he took lightly, and something he had never used as a warning until now. “I make exceptions when someone hurts my child.”

“You mean you’re not going to sick your little biker boys on me?” Chris smirked like a cocky bastard who thought he had it all figured out.

“The Sons of Anarchy are not people I use to do damage to others.” He did not use them as a tool of destruction, only as added protection for Stiles if he saw fit. “You hurt my kid, and I’ll deal with you directly. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Argent?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

* * *

 

“So,” Dean drummed his fingers over the tabletop. “You decided an emotionally unstable teenager was prime pack material.”

“Do you really think this is the best place for that conversation?” Derek gestured to their very crowded surroundings. “In a diner during the lunch rush?”

“None of these people care what we’re talking about.” If they happened to overhear something, they’d rationalize it long before they’d ever believe it. “Why are you choosing to build a pack with teeny-boppers instead of adults?”

“Teenagers are more willing to accept the bite,” The alpha admitted nonchalantly as he took a fry from his plate. “And sometimes they need it more.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Isaac’s father beat him, locked him in a freezer. He needed to be strong so he could get away from his dad.” Derek grudgingly gave his reason for turning the kid. “And the Whittemore kid, he was kind of a mistake. He came to my house after I became the alpha, and practically begged me to turn him. I didn’t have enough control after the change to say no.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. “Whittemore? Isn’t that the douchy kid with a Porsche and a bad attitude?”

“Don’t worry, the bite didn’t take.” Derek brushed off his concern and continued munching on his fries. “I don’t know why, but he didn’t turn.”

“Huh.” Dean would file that information away for later, it seemed like something they should look into. “I just think turning teenagers into werewolves isn’t the best idea. I mean, look at all the problems you’ve had with the McCall kid.”

“My uncle bit Scott against his will. He’s an asshole, because he doesn’t want to be a werewolf. As irritating as that is, I get it.” Derek remarked objectively. “I am only turning those who want it and need it.”

“Turning a bunch of kids is still a risk.” Teenagers were far too young to make a life altering decision such as that one. “It’s not something they can take back later if they change their mind. After their first confrontation with the Argents, they might wish they were nothing more than human.”

“I’m not worried about the Argents, not anymore.” The wolf said confidently. “I’m not gonna keep living my life in fear of them, especially when I have my own hunters on my side now.”

“We are on your side, but we are not yours.” Dean was his own man, he did not belong to anyone. “And you still need to be cautious.”

“I’ll be cautious.” Derek promised as his phone chimed on the table. “I gotta go.”

“What? Why?” They weren’t anywhere near done with this conversation. “What’s going on?”

“A message from Isaac.” Derek typed out a quick reply on his phone. “There’s an epileptic girls he goes to school with who had a seizure during gym class this morning.”

“What’s that got to do with you?”

“He thinks she’d want the bite.” Derek tucked his cellphone in his pocket and slid out of the booth. “I’m gonna go to the hospital and talk to her.”

“You did not hear a damn thing I just said, did you?” Dean huffed and pushed his half-eaten plate of food away. “It just went in one ear and out the other.”

“Pretty much.”

* * *

 

Going to the ice rink with Scott, Allison, and Lydia was awkward, to say the least. It probably wouldn’t have been if Allison hadn’t taken Scott aside in the middle of a crowded parking lot to yell at him for inviting Stiles in the first place. Stiles might have been offended if he had actually wanted to be there or cared what she thought.

Honestly, all Allison’s attitude toward him did was have him rethinking an odd voicemail he’d received from his father earlier in the day, telling him to steer clear of the Argents. At the time, he assumed his dad meant the newly appointed principal, Gerard Argent, who Stiles had made a point of avoiding at all costs without his father’s input. Now, though, Stiles was beginning to this his dad meant the Argent family in general, Allison included.

In an effort to do as his father asked, Stiles kept his distance from her at the ice rink, choosing to sit on the bleachers, while Scott and Allison got all lovey-dovey on the ice. For some reason, which he could not fathom, Lydia had decided to stick with him instead of the happy couple.

“So, how is Sam?” The redhead questioned as she laced up her skates. “I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“He’s fine.” He was the last time Stiles saw him, anyway. “You guys kept in touch after the dance?”

“Kind of. He visited me when I was in the hospital.” A pleased grin spread across her lips. “He wanted to see if I was okay.”

“Sam’s a good guy.” Stiles may not have always gotten along with the youngest Winchester, but he knew the kind of man he was. “He’s out of town a lot for work, it‘s hard for him to keep in touch. The next time I see him, I can tell him to give you a call.”

“Thanks,” She flashed him a grateful smile. “What does he do, anyway?”

“Oh, uh,” If he was trying to be Sam’s wingman, then the exterminator lie wasn’t going to work. He would just have to build a story off the lie the Winchester’s used to feed him. “Well, his dad was a professor of mythology and folklore, and before he died he was working on a book about American Folklore. He was going around the country, conducting interviews and doing research. Sam and his brother are doing that now, trying to finish what their dad started.”

“That’s sweet.” Lydia tilted her head to the side curiously. “Is that why he left Stanford and didn’t go to law school?”

“Um, yeah, that’s part of it.” The Jessica aspect of it was not something Stiles had the right to share. “You never know, he might go back to school someday. It depends on how things turn out.”

“You really believe that?”

“Anything’s possible.” Stiles hoped one day the Winchesters would settle down, have a home base, and only hunt part-time while maintaining a somewhat normal life. “So, what’s the deal? Are you into him or do you just want to use him to make Jackson jealous enough to come crawling back to you?”

“What?” Lydia’s jaw dropped in shock. “You sold me on him based solely on the fact that I could use him to make Jackson jealous.”

“That was just for the dance.” He allowed her to use Sam for one night and one night only. “If you want to see him again, socially, then it’s gotta be because you like him. He doesn’t have the best track record with relationships, and I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“I do like him.” She alleged, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I liked talking to him at the dance. He’s smart and funny.”

“He is smart.” Stiles had never known either Winchester to be funny. “I’m gonna be straight with you, Sam’s not gonna date you. Even if he likes you too, he’ll say you’re too young. He will be your friend, though. Who knows, after graduation, that could change, but for now, friendship is the most you’re going to get.”

“I can work with that.”

* * *

 

Gemma preferred to do the grocery shopping by herself, early in the morning. It was the easiest way to get it all done without one of the guys tagging along and throwing a bunch of crap they didn’t need in the basket. Every so often, however, one of them would show up randomly to interrupt her peaceful morning.

“Gem,” John jogged down the canned-food aisle to where she was standing with her cart. “I need to talk to you.”

“You, I was not expecting.” Any other man in her life, sure, but not him. “How did you even know I was at the supermarket?”

“Stiles has a tracking app on your phone.”

“Well, that’s disturbing.” She should have known her youngest had ulterior motive when he volunteered to setup the smartphone Juice had given her for Christmas. “But it doesn’t surprise me.”

“He says it’s for emergencies, he’s got it on all our phones.” John made a 'what can you do' gesture with his hands. “I’ve got it on his phone too.”

“That’s both less surprising and less disturbing.” Although, she doubted the teenager would appreciate the invasion of privacy if he knew. “Speaking of phones, why didn’t you use yours to call me about whatever it is you need to talk to me about? Is it so important that you had to do it in person?”

“To me it is, yeah.” He curled his fingers around the side of the cart, as if he were afraid she might walk off with it before he had a chance to say what he needed to say. “I, uh, I need you to schedule Stiles to work every day after school, when he doesn’t have lacrosse practice.”

“ _Every day_ after school?” That seemed a bit excessive for a high school student. “Why?”

“So he’s never home by himself.” John explained, his face pinched with worry. “On days when I’m working late and he doesn’t have practice, he needs to have somewhere to go, so he’s not alone at the house or running around town.”

“ _Why_? What’s going on?”

“I’m trying to keep him safe.” John sighed tiredly. “I found Argent’s daughter tied up in the woods yesterday morning. It was some kind of hunter training exercise. I called social services—“

“And in retaliation, Argent threatened Stiles.” It wasn’t hard to work out when you knew what kind of people the Argents were. “What exactly did he say?”

“That Stiles ran in bad circles, the club and the pack,” John reached up to wipe beads of sweat from his brow. “That it would be a shame if something where to happen to him while I was working. And you know, I know Stiles can take care of himself, but he shouldn’t have to.”

“You want to protect your baby.” She understood that better than most. “Why don’t you just move him home, Johnny? You still own your daddy’s house. Unser will be retiring soon, you could take his place as chief. The town still knows you, trusts you more than they do David Hale, they’ll elect you over him any day. Stiles can go to Charming High, he can get away from all the werewolf shit. He could be safe.”

“Charming isn’t safe, Gemma, and you know it.” John retorted irritably. “And it’s been over twenty-five years since this town had a chief that gave shit if it was safe. I am not moving back here. Beacon Hills is home now, for better or worse.”

“Heavy on the worse.” With all the werewolf and hunter drama, Beacon Hills wasn’t any better than Charming.

“Will you fix up the TM work schedule, please?” He pleaded with her. “I’m sure I can find something for him to do at the station, but I think he’d prefer tuning up cars over reorganizing a file room”

“I will fix the schedule.” She could always use a mechanic willing to work, seeing as the SAMCRO members on payroll always ran off to do club shit on company time and left poor Lowell to pick up the slack. “Does he know you’re asking me to do this?”

“No. He’d make up some excuse about how he didn’t need to be protected.” John said tersely. “He knows about the Argent threat, I talked to him about it last night when he got back from the ice rink. He’s gonna figure out it’s the reason behind the new work schedule, but I’m hoping he goes along with it to give me peace of mind.”

“Well, I’m gonna need his practice schedule and your work schedule so I know what afternoons he’ll be working.” She would have to adjust certain club members work hours to accommodate her youngest son. “I’ll schedule his days off around yours and Jax’s.”

“When I work overnights, I’ll see if I can get him to spend the night at Jax’s.” The brothers were going to be spending a considerable amount of time with each other in the near future. “That shouldn’t be too hard. Stiles said things were good between them again. I mean, Stiles will probably be at Jax’s more often than not soon, with Abel coming home, and Dean’s thing coming up. Jax will need him more than ever.”

“Dean’s thing.” Gemma did not like the ominous sound of that one bit. “You wanna elaborate on that for me?”

“Not if he hasn’t said anything to you about it.” John tried to walk back the comment. “It’s not something to really get into at the grocery store. You should know about it, though, for Jax’s sake. If you want to come up to Beacon Hills on my next day off, I’ll tell you what I know.”

“I’ll do that.” Gemma could always count on John to give her a straight answer where the boys were concerned.

“Gemma,” A young brunette woman rushed up the aisle. “I gotta talk to you.”

“Johnny,” Gemma ignored the girl momentarily. “I’ll call Stiles to let him know I need him at the garage this afternoon, but I’m gonna need those work and practice schedules.”

“I’ll email them to you when I get to work.” John assured her. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yep.” She waited until John was safely out of hearing distance before rounding the woman beside her. “What do you want, Cherry? Why are you cornering me in the supermarket?”

“I didn’t want to go by your place.” Cherry glanced superstitiously over her shoulder. “I’m afraid the feds might be watching.”

“What do you know about that?”

“They just came to the nail salon looking for me.” Cherry wrung her hands nervously. “I called Half-Sack, and he said the feds were going after all the women.”

“It’s just a scare tactic.” It wasn’t the first time the feds had started pulling in old ladies and friends of the club. “Tell them you open beers and suck dick. That’s it. They got nothing.”

“I haven’t been completely honest with Half-Sack.” The younger woman bit her lip. “I’m sorta married.”

“Sorta?” She was either married or she wasn’t.

“He was a sadistic asshole. He wouldn’t divorce me, so I left.” Cherry revealed bitterly. “I took everything. Took the car, took the money, took the dog.”

“You’re wanted for grand theft.”

“And arson.” She confessed sheepishly. “I burned down our condo.”

“Nice touch.” Gemma had to give credit where credit was due. “Look, I wouldn’t worry too much about the feds hassling you. Grand theft and arson are small fry compared to things other people close to the club could get pulled in for.”

“Oh yeah, who do you think they’ll go after?”

“Dean.”

* * *

 

Since werewolves had begun to invade his life, Stiles days had become a hell of a lot busier. Instead of going home after school to do his homework and play video games, he now ran around town searching for Derek’s potential betas. On top of that, he was giving up hours he really needed at TM to deal with all the bullshit, and his coworkers were obviously not happy about it.

“Opie, I will be at the garage in a couple hours, I promise.” Stiles said as he answered a call from the older man. “I’m just running a little late. Tell Gemma to relax.”

 _“I’m not calling for Gemma.”_ Opie muttered over the line. _“When you get into town, I need you to go by my house before you head to work, I’ll cover your shift for you.”_

“Why?”

 _“The ATF agent you got snarky with, Stahl, she was harassing Donna this morning.”_ Opie’s voice dripped with venom in regards to that particular fed. _“It’s got Donna spooked. She and I got into it, and she says she’s taking the kids to her mom’s house. She was packing boxes when I left.”_

“You want me to talk to her.” Being the go-between for club members and their old ladies was almost a full time job in itself. “Quick question: am I talking her out of leaving you because you love her or because if the old ladies start heading for the hills, SAMCRO looks guilty of something?”

_“Don’t be a prick about this, Stiles.”_

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” It killed him to say it, but if he was going to be a nicer person, he couldn’t be questioning other people’s motives all the time, it made them think he didn’t trust them. “I will talk to her when I get to town. Right now, I gotta go, I just got to Boyd’s house.”

_“Who’s Boyd?”_

“He’s a kid I go to school with.” Stiles replied as he pulled the Jeep up to the curb in front of the house. “I have to try to talk him out of making, what Scott calls, the biggest mistake of his life.”

_“Good luck with that.”_

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll see you later, Opie.” Stiles ended the call and tossed his cellphone to the passenger seat. “Well, here goes nothing.”

Stiles steeled his resolve and hopped out of the Jeep, making his way up the front walkway. He banged his fist against the door a few times, calling out his classmate’s name, and receiving no response in return. When it became clear no one was home, he admitted defeat, and turned to head back to his car, only to realize he was no longer alone.

“Oh, wow,” He stumbled backward to avoid smacking into the blonde girl in front of him. “Uh, hi, Erica.”

He probably should have expected her to be there, she was Derek’s newest beta, after all. It made sense she would be out searching for Boyd, hoping to get to him before Scott had a chance to give him the ‘being a werewolf sucks’ speech.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” Erica asked, a disarming smile pulling at her lips.

“Uh, nothing, I was, uh,” He cleared his throat and tried to think of the name that had conveniently slipped his mind in her presence. “I was just looking for….”

“Boyd?”

“Yeah. Yes. Boyd.” That was it, that was who he was there for. Boyd. Vernon Boyd.

“You know what you’re doing right now that’s kind of funny?” She squinted her eyes and studied him for a moment. “You’re only looking in my eyes.”

“That’s funny?” He was under the impression that was where girls wanted guys to look.

“Well, yeah.” She smirked unabashedly. “Because it’s that kind of look where you’re trying not to look anywhere other than my eyes, but you want to, don’t you? You want a nice, long, hard look.”

“Not really. No.” Well, he didn’t before, but now that she’d brought it up, he was having a little trouble _not_ staring where she thought he wanted to stare.

“Oh,” She feigned disappointment. “So, it’s just my eyes?”

“Yes,” It was totally her eyes. “You have beautiful eyes.”

“I have beautiful _everything_.” She quickly corrected him.

“And a newfound self-confidence. Congratulations, Erica.” Stiles admired that, he really did. “You know what, I should get going.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Erica slammed a hand to his chest, digging her newly acquired claws in.

“Why not?” There was no reason for him to keep him there.

“You’re having car trouble.” She held up a part from his Jeep, the starter.

“What is it with you werewolves and my Jeep?”

The last thing he saw before he knocked into oblivion was the she-wolf swinging the starter at his head.

* * *

 

Once the feds started pulling in SAMCRO’s old ladies, Dean should have gotten the hell out of dodge, left town immediately. Did he do that? No. No, he decided to press his luck, wrongly assuming he wasn’t on the ATF’s radar. Rookie mistake. His stupidity got him picked up outside of TM and taken to Charming PD, where he’d been booked, processed, and handcuffed in an interrogation room.

“’Dean Eric Winchester,’” The agent in charge, June Stahl, read from a thick file. “Born January 24, 1979 in Lawrence, Kansas. Mother: Mary Winchester nee Campbell, deceased. Father: John Winchester, whereabouts unknown. One brother, Samuel Winchester, also a wanted fugitive. You wouldn’t want to tell me where to find him, would you?”

“He bailed on me months ago, said I was too much trouble.” He lied easily, not willing to give up his little brother’s location. “Sorry, I can’t be more helpful.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are.” She flipped through the file. “You’ve got quite a record, Mr. Winchester.”

“That’s what federal agents keep telling me.” Dean was going to develop a complex if they kept bringing him in to tell him what a bad, bad man he was. “To be fair, I’ve never been formally charged. I’ve been held pending charges, but never had a case go to court.”

“You always manage to disappear before the case gets very far.” Stahl almost seemed impressed by that. “We did have you for minute. Special Agent Victor Henriksen caught up with you and Sam in Little Rock, and you spent a few days in Green River County Detention Center.”

“They didn’t hold us there very long.”

“You escaped, you weren’t released.” She clarified as if he had forgotten. “So, grave desecration, that’s nasty business.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.” He doubted she was aware of just how nasty it could be. ”You gotta wonder what kind of sick bastard could disturb a grave site like that.”

“I am wondering that, actually,” She closed his file and gave him her full attention. “Why don’t you enlighten me? What drives a man to dig up a grave and burn the corpse inside of it?”

“Well, I personally wouldn’t know. I’ve never done anything like that.” His arrest record might claim he had, but there was no evidence to back it up. “But, you know, I read this book once that said burning someone’s body is a way to free a spirit from things that bound it to our world. Maybe whoever desecrated those graves just wanted to set the spirits free, so they could finally be at peace.”

“Yeah, religious psychosis is in your psychological profile.” Stahl mentioned offhandedly. “There’s a lot in that profile. You play your cards right and you could spend a couple years in a state-run psychiatric hospital instead of a lifetime in a maximum security prison.”

“You the card dealer?” He was intrigued now, he expected her to make threats not deals. “You gotta put yours on the table before I show mine.”

“I will do _everything_ in my power to have you and your brother remanded to a psychiatric hospital for full psychological evaluations.” Evaluations were not a guarantee of anything. “All you have to do is tell me what you know about the Sons of Anarchy’s illegal activities.”

“Lady, can I be candid with you?” By candid he meant crude. “I screw around with their VP when I’m in town. You know, suck his dick, fuck him, let him fuck me, things like that. We don’t do much talking. Getting a handful of his kutte in my grip while we bang is the closest I get to his ‘club’ business. I don’t think there is anything I know about their _alleged_ illegal activities.”

“Well, I’m sure he gets a little loose-lipped with his pillow talk. He’s satisfied, sated, a little sleepy, and things he doesn’t mean to stay start slipping out of that pretty mouth of his.” Stahl made a show of licking her own lips as she slid a notepad and a pen over to him. “Why don’t you give it some thought, and write down what you can remember.”

“If I do this,” Not that he was even considering it. “If I’m going to betray one of my oldest friends, my favorite fuck-buddy, I’m gonna need something pretty big from you.”

“I’m listening.”

“My brother, he gets to walk.” If Dean were to ever truly entertain the idea of becoming a rat, it would be to protect Sammy. “He gets immunity from every crime you all think he committed. I’ll plead guilty to all of it, and I’ll tell you what I know about the Sons of Anarchy, but only if Sam gets a free pass.”

“That’s a tall order, but luckily Sam’s criminal record is significantly shorter than yours. So, I’m gonna do my best to make that happen for you.” She vowed and extended a hand to touch the pad of paper. “I need a show of good faith, something the Sons of Anarchy has done. Just one thing you know of, then I’ll make your deal happen. Just give me _one_ thing.”

“Okay.” He picked up the pen and took the cap off. “I don’t think you’ll like it, though. It’s something I’ve always known I could use if I got jammed up by the cops.”

“Just write it down.”

“Okay.”

He slid the paper closer to himself and blocked her view of it with his non-dominant hand, he couldn’t let her see it until he was done. He took his time, much longer than necessary, to write out the single word neatly as neatly as he could, to prevent any misunderstandings, before relinquishing the notepad back to her. There, on a crisp white sheet of paper, in big block letters, was one word that would make or break their _deal_ : **LAWYER**.

“That is the only thing I am ever gonna write on that paper, Agent Stahl.” Dean put the cap back on the pen and rolled it off the side of the table. “And I don’t have to give you a damn thing to get one. This little interrogation and ATF version of ‘ _Let’s Make a Deal’_ is over until my public defender gets here.”

“That’s how you wanna play this, huh?” She stood from her chair and straightened her ill-fitting pantsuit. “I was trying to help you, Mr. Winchester.”

“Given my track record with vanishing from police stations, you might want to get that lawyer here soon.” Dean adjusted the cuffs around his wrist. “Or you are going to be explaining to your bosses how you let a dangerous, possibly mentally ill, fugitive like myself escape your custody.”

“Do not threaten me.”

“Lawyer, Agent Stahl. I would like to see my lawyer.” Legally, he couldn’t be denied proper counsel. “Lawyer. L.A.W.Y.E.R. _Lawyer_.”

“I’ll get your goddamn lawyer.” She viciously snatched his file off the table.

“You go do that.” He grinned and tipped back his chair as far as his restraints would allow. “I may still be here when you get back.”

“This door is staying open.” She jerked a thumb toward the door separating them from the bullpen. “I’ll have eyes on you the whole time.”

“I do enjoy a challenge.”

* * *

 

Stiles was having a truly awful day. His Jeep had been taken out of commission, again. He’d been knocked unconscious and had woken up in an unsavory place. To top it all off, he had to take a dirty bus to Charming, and then walk the distance from the station to the Winston house. Trudging up the driveway to see Donna hauling boxes from the house to the truck was just icing on the cake.

“No….” He whined pitifully. “You can’t leave me, not today.”

“I’m not leaving _you_. I’m not even really leaving Opie.” She told him as she dumped a box carelessly into the bed of the pickup. “The kids and I just need some time away from this shit.”

“I understand that, I do.” He needed a break from it all every so often too. “Have you told Opie this is temporary?”

“No, because no matter how temporary it may be, the only thing he hears is that I’m leaving.” Donna sighed and turned toward him, her gaze catching on his scalp. “Stiles, come here.”

“Uh, okay.” If she were anyone else, he might question the request, but he trusted Donna, so he obediently joined her at the tailgate of the truck. “What’s wrong?”

“What happened to your face?” She gripped his chin in one hand while the fingers of her free one prodded the wound on his hairline.

“A girl from school hit me.” Stiles admitted sullenly, his bottom lip jutted out in pout.

“With what, a crowbar?” Donna questioned as she inspected the size and depth of the gash.

“I think it was the starter from my Jeep.” He couldn’t be certain, he hadn’t gotten a good look at it before she whacked him with it. “It’s always my Jeep.”

“You’re practically keeping TM in business with your Jeep’s constant need for repair.” Donna joked and wiped dried blood from the wound site with her thumb. “ _Why_ did the girl hit you?”

“I don’t know, man. It could’ve been to keep me from finding her new beta buddy.” That was the most likely option. “Or ‘cause I was looking at her eyes and not her chest, she seemed kinda upset by that.”

“Really?” Donna quirked a disbelieving brow. “You think that’s why she hit you?”

“I don’t know. I thought girls wanted us to look in their eyes instead of at their breasts.” Of course, he had been wrong when it came to girls before. “All I know is she knocked me out and threw me in a dumpster.”

“How’d some little girl manage to lift you into a dumpster?”

“She’s one of Derek’s new pups.” The she-wolf had supernatural strength on her side. “She used to be really nice, you know? I mean, she was sad, kids at school bullied her because of her epilepsy, but she was sweet. Derek bit her like yesterday and suddenly she’s got a new self-confidence and wardrobe, all good things, but she’s mean. All Derek’s betas have gone from victim to bully, actually. Leather-wearing bullies.”

“Derek hasn’t tried to rein them in?” Donna asked, her nose wrinkled like she smelt something foul. “Won’t their penchant for violence attract the wrong kind of attention from Beacon Hills’ not-so friendly resident hunters?”

“I don’t think Derek cares.” At this point, he was pretty sure Derek was testing the invisible boundaries with the Argents. “With Kate dead, he finally feels free to have a pack again, for the first time since his family died.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt his pack lasts long if they continue to use their werewolf power against anyone who pisses them off.” Donna made a fantastic point there. “Their lifespan will get a hell of a lot shorter if they decide to use you as a punching bag whenever you say or do something they don’t like. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

“Um, okay.” He was both curious and nervous to know what that meant. “How you gonna do that?”

“I’m gonna go have a chat with them.” She took the truck keys from her pants pocket. “So they know, at the very least, not to mess with you again.”

“You don’t have to do that.” That was tantamount to having his dad confront a school bully’s parents about their behavior. That never ended well. “I can handle it myself.”

“Honey, in Charming, you could handle it yourself. In Beacon Hills, you are purposefully passive.” Donna moved around the side of the pickup and yanked open the driver side door. “You wanna keep up the unassuming geek act, you will let me handle it for you.”

“Aside from the fact that having my sister fight my battles for me is a bitch move,” He could get over that, it wasn’t the first time one of his pseudo siblings had stepped in to save his butt. “There’s the werewolf thing. Erica, who I assume will be your main target, is a brand new werewolf who doesn’t know how to control herself. I don’t want her to hurt you.”

“I’m just gonna talk to her. She may be a werewolf, but she’s also a girl.” Donna said as she climbed into the truck. “I’m fluent in girl.”

“I don’t know what that means.” He scratched the back of his head. “You don’t even know where to find her.”

“Old subway station in the warehouse district.” Okay, so maybe she did. “Juice sent a mess text about it after Dean had him track Derek’s phone a few weeks back, so we would all have a possible location if you or Derek ever went MIA again.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be back in a couple hours.” She shut the truck door and started up the rig.

“She’s tough, she’ll be fine.” Stiles murmured to himself as he watched the pickup pull out of the driveway and disappear down the street. “Yeah, she’ll be fine.”

Stiles let out a long breath and made his way to the sidewalk, ready to make the trek to work on foot. His commute was cut short when an unmarked Crown Vic jumped the curb, nearly sideswiping him.

“Jesus. Fuck.” He barely resisted the urge to kick the car’s bumper in retaliation. “What’s the problem, asshole?”

“Nathaniel, isn’t it?” The ATF agent he’d met at the clubhouse months ago exited the passenger seat. “Just the man I was looking for.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Stiles hadn’t done anything to warrant her attention. “Who are you again? I know you’re the fed incapable of reading a search warrant, but it’s your name I’m having trouble with.”

“Stahl. Special Agent June Stahl.” She introduced herself. “I’m having problems finding a surname for you. Want to help me out?”

“Not particularly.” There were just some things he didn’t share with strangers.

“Well, I’ll just run your prints when we get to the station. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.” Stahl ordered him and motioned to one of her male companions who had gotten out of the car with her. “Agent Thompson will put the cuffs on you.”

“What are the charges?” Stiles asked as Thompson came up behind him and forced his arms behind his back. “Oh, let me guess, you haven’t thought of them yet.”

“You know, something tells me that once I’ve got a real name to run through the system, I’m gonna find something.” Stahl patted his shoulder as the cuffs were slapped on. “Why don’t we go find out?”

“Sure. Why the hell not?” It’s not like he had a choice. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, though.”

* * *

 

Tensions were running high in the clubhouse chapel as everyone gathered to discuss the latest crisis, the goddamn ATF making their presence known in a big way.

“Stahl’s getting impatient.” Clay brought the issue to the table. “She’s dragging in anyone connected to us.”

“She picked Cherry up at the grocery store. They’re holding her on arson charges and some other shit.” Half-Sack revealed. “Heard Stahl was harassing Gemma at the store too.”

“Yeah, she was, but she was smart enough not to take Gemma in.” Clay grumbled as he lit a cigar. “More than I can say for her treatment of Luann this morning, tearing apart her studio and taking her in.”

“They picked Dean up this afternoon.” Jax bounced his knee anxiously under the table. “The Impala was barely out of the parking lot before squad cars surrounded him.”

“Stahl made a house call to Donna too, threatened her.” Opie clenched his jaw. “And our neighbors gave me a courtesy call a few minutes ago, said the feds arrested Stiles on my front lawn.”

“She’s got Dean _and_ Stiles?” Chibs chuckled in delight. “Once they’re done with her, she won’t be able to get out of town fast enough.”

“Yeah, let’s hope it works out that way.” Clay took a puff from his cigar. “Stahl, she’s playing this smart. Everyone she’s putting pressure on has something to lose.”

“That’s why she chose them. She wants to flip ‘em.” Jax deduced, knowing that was the only reason for bringing in those specific people. “Right now she’s trying to convince them it’s in their best interest to turn on us.”

“She’s looking for a rat.” Clay spit out. “With that group, she might find one.”

“Donna, Gem, Luann, they’ve been in this life long enough to know how to play the game. They’re not gonna say anything.” Opie put his faith in three out of the four women the ATF had targeted. “Cherry, though, she’s a different story.”

“Cherry won’t say anything. She’s no rat.” Half-Sack claimed firmly. “She’s loyal.”

“You don’t know that for sure. You’re thinking with your dick, not your head. But, you know, the most she could give the feds is shit about Indian Hills.” Clay shifted his gaze from Sack to Jax. “Your boys are the ones I’m worried about.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Jax trusted ‘his boys,’ Dean and Stiles, more than he did most people. “Neither of them are rats. They would sooner go to jail for whatever trumped up charges Stahl’s holding them on than give us up.”

“What if it’s not them she’s threatening?” Tig questioned disparagingly. “She tells them she’ll go after Sam or Stiles old man, and they’ll sing like canaries.”

“That’s bullshit.” Piney snarled at the other son. “They’re too smart to fall for that shit.”

“What exactly do you think she has on Sheriff Stilinski that she could use against Stiles?” Juice asked the club’s Sergeant at Arms. “The Winchesters, yeah, they’ve got records longer than any of us, but Stilinski’s clean. Stahl could use Jax against Stiles, but that’s about it.”

“Stiles would let my ass rot if it was a crime he knew I committed, but he’d never be the one to give me up.” Jax knew his baby brother would always have his back. “He’ll keep his mouth shut. After all these years, if he hasn’t used what he knows to put you in jail, Clay, considering how much he hates you, I think it’s safe to say he’s not a rat.”

“And Dean? He’s wanted for shit all over the country.” Clay swished his hand over the table, in gesture to the country. “You trust him not to sell us out for a reduced sentence or to keep his brother out of jail?”

“Yeah, I do.” Jax had no doubt in his mind Dean would protect him, and by proxy the club, from the likes of Agent Stahl. “What we need to be worried about is who Stahl plans to lean on next. The shit she’s doing now, yanking our families off the street and hoping they crack, that’s just her stretching her legs. I wanna know the endgame.”

“The endgame is all of us behind bars for the rest our goddamn lives.” Clay growled. “We need to get ahead of this.”

“Preferably before more shit starts hitting the fan.” Jax clucked his tongue. “Fuck, Stahl’s already raided Luann’s studio, and thrown her and Cherry in lockup. Who knows what she’ll do to Dean and Stiles when they start giving her lip.”

“Throw them in a cell beside Luann and Cherry.” Juice theorized with a shrug. “Not much more she can do.”

“With those two, it’s more likely she’ll just shoot ‘em.” Piney joked with a hearty laugh, but sobered quickly. “We should probably get a lawyer in there before they get themselves into too much trouble.”

“You paying for that lawyer, old man?” Clay glared at the elder Winston. “We’re not using club money or the club's lawyer for those two. Dean can deal with public defender, and I’m sure Stilinski knows a good lawyer for Stiles.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Jax knew his stepfather was a prick, but this was a whole new level of fucked up. “You want them to protect us, but you won’t lift a finger to help them?”

“They are both old enough to know the risks of hanging around us.” The club president pushed out of his chair and towered over the table. “If they aren’t smart enough to keep a lawyer on retainer, that’s their problem.”

* * *

 

Sixteen years old, and this was the first time Stiles had been dragged into a police station to be fingerprinted and questioned. That had to be a new record by his family’s standards. Hell, even Charming PD’s deputies were surprised he managed to make it this far with a clean record.

“Oh, I’ve been wondering when they’d bring you in.” Deputy Candy Eglee mused as she set a load of files on the desk between them.

“Deputy Eglee,” ‘Cause Stiles liked her, he chose not to be offended by what she could have meant by that. “How are you this evening?”

“Better than you are, from the looks of things.” She gave a pointed glance to his cuffed hands. “Agent Stahl leave you all alone?”

“I was told to wait like a good boy, while she ran my prints through IAFIS.” His fingerprints had drawn a blank in Charming’s local database. “She’s convinced I’m some sort of hardened criminal with a record a mile long.”

“And you’re letting her chase her tail.” Eglee said knowingly with an amused twitch of her lips. “You and Dean are sure keeping her on her toes today.”

“Dean’s here?”

“Behind you, in interrogation room one.” The deputy informed him. “They’re planning to move him to San Joaquin County Correctional until his extradition papers are approved. Stahl’s waiting for a callback from someone named Henriksen.”

“Huh.” They had to nip that in the bud and quick. “Interesting.”

“I gotta get back to work. Try not to infuriate Stahl too much, there’s no telling what she’ll do to you.” Eglee cautioned him before walking away empty handed.

With the deputy gone, Stiles was left more or less unattended. He used his freedom to scan the receptions desk for anything he could use to aide Dean’s escape, and found what he was looking for poking out from the stack of files Eglee had left behind. His hands being cuffed in front of him worked to his advantage, allowing him to swiftly and smoothly pull the paperclip free without capturing the attention of the deputies or feds milling about the station.

He palmed the clip and swiveled around to peer into the interrogation room. The door was wide open, giving him an unrestricted view of Dean at the table, looking bored out of his skull. There was a single agent posted outside, conveniently distracted by his cellphone.

“Target acquired.” Stiles whispered to himself and set his plan in motion.

He took two long strides toward the room and dramatically tripped over his own feet, stumbling into the unsuspecting agent. He capitalized on the man’s preoccupation of trying not to fall on his ass, and tossed the paperclip in the hunters direction, the jangle of his cuffs masking the clang of the clip hitting the table. Dean was quick to hide it from sight, slipping it beneath his arm.

“Shit, dude, I’m sorry.” Stiles apologized as he steadied himself. “I’m kind of a klutz.”

“Watch what you’re doing, idiot.” The agent grunted and returned his gaze to his phone.

“What’s up, Dean?” Stiles greeted the hunter from the doorway. “Your lawyer getting you out of here soon?”

“Haven’t seen a lawyer yet.” Dean frowned. “I guess the public defender’s office is very busy today.”

“Apparently.” That didn’t bode well for him, he’d asked for an attorney the moment the feds shoved him in the back of their car. “Rumor is you’re headed for SJCC.”

“Then it’s a one-way trip to Milwaukee.” The hunter didn’t seem to worried about it. “What’d they pick you up for, reckless driving?”

“Walking down the sidewalk, actually.” The reckless driving sounded cooler, though. “I guess that’s illegal now.”

“Guess so.” Dean shook his head. “They got anything else on you? Anything they could use to keep you in a holding cell with the rest of us?”

“Nope.” He wouldn’t be there long enough to see the inside of a cell. “Why do you say that like you think there’s something to find?”

“Well, isn’t there?”

“Of course not.” Stiles wasn’t secretly moonlighting as a criminal mastermind in his spare time. “What exactly do you think I do when I’m not in Charming?”

“We all have our own theories.” Dean admitted with a shit-eating grin.

“I would love to hear some of those.” Stahl interjected as she came to stand beside Stiles. “Anything you can tell me about your friend here, could help you immensely, Mr. Winchester.”

“So you’ve got jackshit on him.” Dean cackled at her misfortune. “That’s not really my problem. And I already told you I wouldn’t speak to you without my lawyer.”

“Well, then,” Stahl cocked her head toward Stiles. “I guess it’s just you and me, kid.”

“Oh joy.” That sounded like so much fun.

There wasn’t much Stiles could do but blindly follow when the woman wrapped her fingers around his bicep and lead him down the hall and into the second interrogation room, where Unser was leaning against the wall next to the door. He was forced into a chair by rough hands on his shoulders, before his cuffs were adjusted to connect to a metal loop on the tabletop.

“Why don’t you start by giving me your name?” Stahl suggested as she took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

“My prints didn’t pop up in any of your little databases, huh?” Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little smug about that. “Unser wouldn’t help you identify me?”

“He says he’s never met you before. He’s seen you at Teller-Morrow, but you’ve never spoken.” She obviously didn’t believe that, and she was right not to. 

“You know, at our last meeting, I could tell you weren’t too bright, so I’m gonna help you out by letting you in on a little secret,” Well, it wasn’t really a secret when everybody knew about it. “Wayne Unser is a dirty cop. He lies.”

“I figured that one out on my own, thanks.” Stahl stage whispered as if it were something shared just between them. “Now, tell me your name.”

“I’ve got lots of names.” He answered truthfully. “None of which are going to lead you to a criminal record of any kind. I’m clean. I’m just a fine, upstanding, young man.”

“Upstanding young men don’t lurk outside peoples home.” Stahl said curtly. “Why don’t you tell me why we found you prowling outside the Winston residence?”

“The lady of the house and I are having an illicit affair.” Stiles deadpanned with a roll of his eyes. “I was not prowling or lurking, I was leaving. Why don’t you tell me why you picked me up and where my public defender is?”

“You know why we picked you up, don’t play stupid.” Oh, so she didn’t have a reason to pull him off the street, she wanted him to give her one, to confess to some crime he had committed so she had a real reason to keep him there. “We’ll call the PD’s office to get you a lawyer when you give me a name.”

“Which name do you want?” He had so many to choose from.

“When we first met outside the clubhouse, you told me your name was Nathaniel,” Surprise, surprise, she actually had a name to start them off with. “I assume that is your first name. What’s your last name?”

“Teller.” At least it was while he was in Charming.

“Nathaniel Teller.” She scrawled his alias on a sheet of paper. “Date of birth?”

“June 06th, 1993.” He glanced up at Unser, daring him to dispute anything he was saying.

“Address?”

“10709 Grant St. Charming, California.” That wasn’t entirely a lie, he did live there part-time. “If that address sounds familiar, it’s because it belongs to Jax Teller.”

“Is he your father?” Stahl asked, jotting down the information as she received it.

“Only if you believe the rumors.” Of course, those rumors also said Donna was his mother.

“Not one thing he’s told you is true.” Unser piped up, finally deciding to be helpful. “Not his name, birth date, anything.”

“Says the pillar of honesty.” Stiles scoffed at the Chief’s accusation. “I don’t think she’ll believe you anymore than she believes me.”

“Is Nathaniel Teller your name or not?” Stahl questioned, annoyance lacing her tone.

“It is and it isn’t.” It was half-right. “One is correct, one is not.”

“Teller ain’t his surname.” Unser chimed in once more. “Nathaniel was his first name when he was born, but it’s not really anymore, I don’t think. It’s a little confusing.”

“Only if you’re an idiot.” In Stiles opinion, Unser was a big fucking idiot. “Nathaniel is part of my first name, but it is not my _full_ first name.”

“What is your _full_ first name?” Stahl tapped her pen against the table impatiently.

“Guess.” He challenged, knowing she could never pull _that_ name off the top of her head. “If you guess correctly, I’ll give you my last name for free.”

“Or you could just give me your last name now.” Stahl prompted. “I’ll run a search with it, find out who you really are, and we can finally get on with this.”

“Doesn’t sound as fun.” But the sooner they got this over with the better, so he would help her out, just a little bit. “I’ll give you a hint as to who I am, okay? My paternal grandfather was the last honest chief of police Charming ever had. He would be disgusted by what the town he died protecting has become.”

“That knock was directed at you, Wayne.” Stahl looked over her shoulder at the reigning chief. “Who was the former chief of Charming PD?”

“That’d be Henry Stilinski.” Stiles jumped in before Unser had a chance. “He was killed in the line of duty in 1985. The case went cold. Unser was too incompetent to solve it, and too busy sucking John Teller and Clay Morrow’s dicks to put in the leg work.”

“Goddamn….” Stahl chortled in pure enjoyment and awe. “Oh, kid, I like you.”

“You shouldn’t.” Unser warned her. “He’s gonna drag you through the mud, just you wait.”

“You know, he’s right about that.” It pained Stiles to admit that, it really did. “Let’s get on with it, shall we? Am I correct in assuming you brought me in to question me about the Sons of Anarchy’s alleged criminal activities, Agent Stahl?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I hate to break this to you, but I’m just a kid, they don’t tell me anything.” And the things Stiles had overheard or witnessed could be open to interpretation. “Since I do not have a criminal record for you to use to get me to spill whatever it is you think I know, your next play would be to threaten my brother with incarceration.”

“You have a brother?” Stahl jotted _‘brother?’_ on the paper beneath his alias.

“Yep. Try to keep up, dear.” They would never get through this in a timely fashion if she kept falling behind. “You would offer me a deal, like, I tell you what I know, and you’ll make sure my brother gets a reduced sentence. I would reject that deal. Would you like to know why?”

“Sure.” Oh, he had her rapt attention now.

“Two reasons. One: I don’t know anything.” He really wanted to drive that point home. “Two: if you had anything on my brother that could lead to his incarceration, you wouldn’t need me. This would lead you to making some outlandish threat you couldn’t back up against someone I love outside of SAMCRO, to push me to rat against the club. Guess what? Wouldn’t work, because I don’t know anything. So, in a last ditch effort to get information from me, you would threaten to paint me as a rat.”

“Let me guess,” Stahl jumped in. “It wouldn’t work, because you don’t know anything, and they know you don’t know anything.”

“Now you’re catching on.” Took her long enough. “You wanna know about the clubs illegal activities? You should be talking to Wayne. He is the one who cleans up after them, keeps ‘em out of jail.”

“Right now I’m talking to you.” She thrust her pen out toward him.

“You’re not, actually, because this conversation is over.” Stiles had basically interrogated himself. “You are going to uncuff me and send me on my way, but not before _begging_ me to convince my dad that this was all some big misunderstanding.”

“Is that right?” She was intrigued when she should have been nervous. “And why would I do that?”

“You arrested me without cause. You denied my right to counsel.” Stiles ticked the offenses off on his fingers. “I am a minor, and you’re interrogating me without a parent or legal guardian present.”

“I didn’t know you were a minor when we began this interview.” Stahl came to her own defense. “The record will show I stopped the interview as soon as I was made aware of your young age.”

“The record will show that Charming police Chief Wayne Unser was present for the entire duration of these proceedings,” Stiles could get every deputy currently in the station to testify to that truth. “He knows exactly how old I am. When it comes down to it, he’ll save his own ass and claim he told you my name, age, date of birth, address, and phone number before you even brought me in.”

The ATF agent reeled back in her chair, her jaw snapping closed with a loud click. She wasn’t expecting that, some punk kid to gain the upper hand on her, a seasoned federal agent. Well, that was her mistake.

“My name is Mieczysław Nathaniel Thomas Stilinski. I was born April 08, 1996. My father is Sheriff John Stilinski. We live in Beacon Hills.” That was about as much information Stiles was willing to give her. “Now you have my name, age, and father’s name. It’d be in your best interest to release me before my dad gets wind of the fact that I’m here. After your botched raid of the clubhouse, something tells me that a formal complaint filed to your bosses boss by a decorated and respected sheriff, would result in an immediate demotion and/or suspension.”

Okay, maybe he was a little ashamed for using the ‘my daddy’s a sheriff’ card, but in his defense, he rarely ever played it, so he didn’t feel too bad about tossing it down against the ATF.

“Um, Agent Stahl,” The agent Stiles had knocked into earlier poked his head into the room. “We, um, we have a problem.”

“What is it?” Stahl snapped, not moving her eyes off Stiles.

“It’s D-Dean Winchester, m-ma’am.” The agent stammered. “He’s escaped.”

“Oh yeah, you’re definitely getting demoted. Losing a fugitive like Dean Winchester is going to look far worse to your bosses than anything my dad can say.” Stiles whistled and held up his cuffed wrists. “You can go ahead and release me before you take the cavalry out for an unsuccessful high-speed chase through Charming.”

“Dealing with him,” Unser gestured to Stiles as he addressed Stahl. “It’s a bit like getting hit back a truck, isn’t it?”

“Shut up, Wayne.” Stahl snarled at the Chief as she reached over to unlock the restraints.

“Well, it’s been real, guys.” Stiles rubbed his freed wrists and climbed to his feet. “I hope you all have a spectacularly shitty night.”

* * *

 

Donna stepped off the defunct escalator to the subway platform to see the betas busy with some hand-to-hand combat training. It wasn’t going well if the scowl their alpha was sporting was anything to go by.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to enroll them in a self-defense class at the community center?” She questioned, announcing her arrival to the unsuspecting wolves. “They’d benefit from a couple anger management classes too, from what I hear.”

“You’re Stiles sister,” Derek left the teenagers to their own devices and met her at the bottom of the stairs.

“I am.” She was glad he remembered seeing as they’d only met once before, at Christmas dinner. “I’m here to talk to one of your pups.”

“I’m their alpha,” It was almost cute how he thought that would mean something to her. “Anything you want to say to one of them, you can say to me.”

“If their behavior today proved anything, it is that you have absolutely no control over what they do.” That was, of course, assuming she and Stiles were not misreading the earlier incident. “Unless you ordered your she-wolf to assault Stiles and toss him in a dumpster.”

“What?” Derek’s said dumbly, confirming it was new information to him.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She rubbed his shoulder consolingly. “Step aside, big guy. I’m going to handle this.”

She hip-checked the alpha to the side and turned her attention to the three teenagers. The boys shared a confused glance, obviously unaware of the reason she was there. The curly haired blonde girl with a puffed out chest and proud grin, though, she knew exactly what she had done to earn Donna’s presence.

“Erica, right?” There was something unsettling about their being a singular female in a pack full of boys, but Donna wasn’t gonna bring it up just yet. “You’re the little girl who hit Stiles with a part from his Jeep.”

“Yep.” Erica nodded enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “He kinda deserved it.”

“Why, because he wasn’t checking out your rack?” That was one theory Stiles had given for the assault. “You know what, it doesn’t even matter. From this point on, you are gonna stay the hell away from my kid. You don’t talk to him, you don’t touch him, you don’t even wave at him down the hall at school. He is off limits to you.”

“ _Your_ kid?” The she-wolf faltered at Donna’s possessive tone. “Derek just said you were Stiles sister.”

“For arguments sake, he’s my fucking kid.” She’d been in his life since the day he was born and loved him like her own son. “And you are going to stay away from him. Clear?”

“You are blowing this way out of proportion.” Erica crossed her arms over her chest and widened her stance. “It was just a love tap.”

“You hit him hard enough to knock him unconscious. There was dried blood in his hair.” It was neither loving nor a tap. “He probably has a concussion. Not to mention, the wound’s probably infected from all the bacteria in the dumpster you left him in. And, oh yeah, his Jeep has to be repaired, _again_.”

“Oh, boohoo.” The girl bellowed exaggeratedly. “If he has such a problem with it, why isn’t he here bitching me out for it?”

“Stiles has an unusually high threshold for abuse when it comes from women." Donna doubted what Erica did even registered as wrong in Stiles mind. “He was also raised to respect women, so he wouldn’t have called you out or retaliated in any way.”

“So you came instead.” Erica’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You here to kick my ass?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” She suspected that’s what the she-wolf wanted, another opportunity to show off her new brute strength. “I just wanted you and the rest of your little pack to know that Stiles will not be your punching bag. He’s human, you are werewolves, pick on someone of your own species, or, here’s a thought, leave people alone unless they start shit with you first. Treat people how want to be treated.”

“People treated us like crap.” The blue-eyed beanpole of a male beta sneered. “We’re just returning the favor.”

“Oh, so Stiles bullied you before your little transformation?” If that were the case, and Donna was sure it wasn’t, she might understand the confrontation between Erica and Stiles a little better. “I’ve seen him go toe-to-toe with violent felons who carry automatic weapons. I doubt he’d waste his time with runts like you.”

“Stiles never touched any of us.” The big, dark skinned wolf admitted. “But that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Because now you’re all at the top of the proverbial food chain.” Stiles was no longer on the same level with these kids, that changed things. “He’s at the bottom, so he’s fair game to you. You realize how fucked up that is, right? The bullied becoming the bullies. You should sympathize with the kids who were once in the same boat as you, instead you’re just perpetuating the cycle.”

“Did you seriously come here to lecture us?” Erica hissed sardonically.

“No, but since your alpha is lacking that area, I guess I’ll step up since I’m already here.” Someone needed to teach these kids a little something about something. “You were bullied, made to feel weak and inferior, and now you’ve got a supernatural kick, you’re strong and confident. You want to show all the people who treated you like crap how badass you are. I can respect that, within reason, but there is a line.”

“We get it, Stiles is the line.” Beanpole muttered, missing the point by a mile. “We touch him again, you’ll come back and _try_ to kick our asses.”

“Sweetie, I’ve been dealing with little boys who thought they were hot-shit, since I was fifteen. I used to knock their asses up and down the block. Today, they are still little boys, but now they are taller, have guns, and delicate egos. And guess what? I can still kick their asses.” It had been awhile since Donna had bloodied her knuckles, but she was confident she could still thrown down if the situation called for it. “You three mini-wolves wouldn’t be much of a problem. Lucky for you, my cat-fighting days are behind me. Something tells me an ass whooping won’t be necessary anyway. I think my asking nicely for you to leave Stiles alone should be more than sufficient.”

“It is.” Derek cut in before his betas could conjure up a clever retort. “Stiles is an ally. I’ll make sure they learn that. He won’t be harmed by one of us again.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” Time would tell if the alpha could keep that promise. “Oh, and Erica, if you’re still confused by Stiles choosing to look at your eyes and not your breasts, I can help you out there.”

“I already figured out he was gay.” The she-wolf said flippantly.

“Oh, it’s got nothing to do with his sexual preferences.” She had it on good authority that Stiles appreciated a good pair of tits as much as the next person. “It’s because you dress like his mother.”

“I don’t remember Mrs. Stilinski ever dressing quite like that,” Derek arched a sly brow. “You must be thinking of someone else.”

“You don’t tell Stiles about my little Gemma-related slip up, and I won’t start making courtesy calls to the parents of your band of misfits here.” Neither of those things would end well for them, so she hoped he’d take that action. “Deal?”

“Deal.” The alpha agreed. “You should probably go now.”

“I am.” She had said her piece, her work here was done. “Do yourself a favor, teach these kids to make good choices.”

“I’ll try.”

* * *

 

Stiles had a tendency to be hypercritical of the club and their activities. He did it to keep them from getting too full of themselves. In his mind, they had enough people worshipping the ground they walked on, someone had to balance the scales and remind them they weren’t shit, and that someone was him.

Unfortunately, being hypercritical was detrimental to his plan to be an all around nicer person. He could be one or the other, he couldn’t be both. Choosing option two, to be nice, was proving to be easier said than done when he got a load of the clubs plan to undermine Stahl’s potential case against them.

“Tell me again.” Stiles requested, hoping like hell that he’d misheard their bright idea.

“I shouldn’t have told you the first time.” Jax commented and sipped his beer. “You don’t need to be involved.”

“I got involved the moment Stahl arrested me.” He would have been happy to live in blissful ignorance, had he not been forced into the situation. “It’s not like I’m going to join you when you put the plan into action. I just want to be clear on the details.”

“All right, so Piney plays a big role.” Jax clapped a hand to the back of the old man sitting beside him. “Piney, Tig, and Bobby are gonna go to the Buffalo Bar and start a huge brawl.”

“That will draw in a substantial police presence, I get that.” Stiles was clear on the plan up until that point. “What next?”

“With the deputies on shift busy out dealing with the bar brawl, the station will be more or less empty. That’s when Unser and I will go in.” Jax explained, moving around the salt and pepper shakers on the table as if they were pieces on a chessboard. “We’ll sneak back to the holding cells so we can get a message to Luann that she can then give to Otto when Stahl takes her to visit him.”

“The message about the ATF wanting to use RICO against the club.” Stiles wasn’t entirely sure how they had come by that information, but he assumed Unser had something to do with it. “Um, I have concerns.”

“You think my plan is crap.” Jax visibly deflated.

“No, no, no.” Yes, yes, yes. “It’s an, uh, a good plan, sure, but—“

“But you’ve got a better one.” Piney deduced easily.

“No.” Stiles had an alternate, safer plan, but who was he to say it was better than Jax’s?

“You sure about that?” Jax narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Yeah.” Not at all, but if he was going to be nicer, he had to be less critical, so he chose not to pick apart the clubs less than stellar plan, offer up a different one, and ultimately make his brother feel bad for not thinking of it first. “It’s a solid plan, Jackson. You all voted and decided it was worthwhile, so I say you go do it.”

“You do?” Jax perked up. “ _You_ are on board with this?”

“Absolutely.” Not even a little bit. “So long as you guys promise to be safe.”

“You know we will.” Jax leaned in to press a brotherly kiss to Stiles temple, before rising from his chair. “I gotta go get ready. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point in Beacon Hills when I’m done, to pick up Dean and move him to the safe house.”

“Yep.” Stiles didn’t think of it as a rendezvous point, he generally called it home. “See you later.”

“Oh, son,” Piney chuckled darkly once it was just the two of them. “You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm. It was physically killing you not to tell Jackson his plan was shit.”

“If you think it’s a stupid plan, why didn’t you say anything?” Why was Stiles always the one who had to do it? “For fuck sake, Piney, you are involved in this plan. Now is not the time for a teaching moment for the clubs younger generation.”

“Why didn’t _you_ say anything?” The old man asked. “You are not the kind of person who gets tightlipped at a time like this.”

“I’m turning over a new leaf.” Which was far more difficult than he originally anticipated. “I’m trying to be a better person, nicer, less critical and judgmental, more open to the input and ideas of others.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.” Piney admonished him. “People around here rely on you to be critical of them. What the hell would you give that up for?”

“What’s he giving up?” Opie interjected as he joined them at the table, taking the chair Jax had vacated.

“Nothing.” Stiles didn’t need to be belittled for it again by another Winston. “Oh, I spoke to your wife. I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Okay.” Opie took a deep breath to prepare himself. “What’s the good news?”

“Donna’s not moving out.” Stiles hadn’t so much talked her out of leaving, as he had inadvertently given her something else to focus on. “Well, she’s not moving out _today._ Tomorrow’s another story.”

“I can work with that.” Opie decided with a small nod. “What’s the bad news?”

“She may end up in jail for assaulting one of my classmates.” With any luck, Donna could keep her temper in check and it wouldn’t come to that. “If it happens, it’ll probably be self-defense. I’d bet good money on Erica throwing the first punch.”

“Yeah, I’m not even gonna ask what all that’s about.”

“Yeah, it’s probably better if you don’t.”

* * *

 

There was something very eerie about being summoned to an animal clinic in the middle of the night. John kept a hand on his holster while Deaton led him back to the examination room where Bobby Singer was already waiting. The hunter’s presence was no more comforting than the cadaver-shaped lump hidden beneath a sheet on the exam table.

“What’s going on, Deaton?” John was fairly certain he was better off not knowing, but as the sheriff he had an obligation to ask.

“Chris Argent dropped this off with me this afternoon.” The vet stood at the head of the exam table. “He wanted me to confirm it was a werewolf attack.”

Deaton carefully pulled the sheet halfway down the body, leaving the corpse of a young man exposed from his head to his waistline. The damage done to the kid was extensive, long, deep gouges running the length of his torso.

“A werewolf didn’t do this.” Bobby asserted as he inspected the victim from a measured distance. “You know what did?”

“No.” Deaton sighed grimly. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“What do you know?” John questioned, wondering if the vet had any information to give them at all.

“There was gunpowder residue under his fingernails, he fired a gun shortly before his death. Aside from the obvious damage to his torso, there’s also this,” Deaton wrenched the victim’s head to the side to reveal a slit across the back of his neck. “See this cut? Precise, almost surgical, but this wound did not kill him. It had a more interesting purpose.”

“Care to share what that might be?” Bobby grunted, growing impatient as the vet drew things out for the sake of suspense. “Or should we guess?”

“The neck a pretty specific spot.” John noted as he took a closer look at the wound. “Does that purpose have anything to do with the spine?”

“Yes, it does.” Deaton smiled approvingly at his answer. “Whatever made this cut was laced with a paralytic toxin potent enough to disable all motor functions.”

“It immobilized him so he couldn’t run or defend himself while it tore him apart.” John shuddered at the brutality of the kill. “The chest wounds, then, they were the cause of death?”

“That was my determination. Notice the pattern, five on each side of the torso. Five, for each finger, each _claw_.” Deaton held up his own hands as an example. “It dug in, slashed upward, eviscerating the lungs and slicing through the bone of the ribcage with ease.”

“You don’t have any idea what could have done it?”

“No.” The vet pulled the sheet up to cover the body. “I can tell you it’s fast, remarkably strong, and has the capacity to render its victim essentially helpless within seconds.”

“Predators with paralytic toxins use it to catch and eat their prey. This guy was not eaten.” John shifted his gaze from the exam table to meet two identical expressions of shock. “Hey, I went to school too, and I’ve been known to crack a book. I’m not the bumbling small town cop you seem to think I am.”

“Of course not, Sheriff.” Deaton refuted the assessment. “And you are correct, it’s odd the body was not eaten. It’s troubling. It means whatever killed this young man only wanted to kill him. In fact, killing may be its only purpose.”

“Sounds like something the Argents would keep on a leash.” Bobby commented mirthlessly. “I’ll do some research, try to figure out what creature has decided to terrorize Beacon Hills this week.”

“In the meantime, I will be bringing Chris Argent in for questioning, again.” It almost felt like John was doing that every other day, for one reason or another. “I’m curious to know what excuse he’ll cook up for dropping a body at an animal clinic instead of a hospital.”

“You’re planning to open an investigation.” Deaton asked, looking mildly alarmed. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Yes.” A young man had been murdered, he deserved justice, to get that John had to investigate. “I’m gonna take your security camera tapes too, I’m sure one of them caught Argent hauling the corpse in. And I’ll have the morgue come pick up the body.”

“I’d urge you to reconsider, Sheriff.” The vet cautioned him. “The Argents will see this as a direct threat to their authority.”

“They don’t have any authority, not in Beacon Hills.” John wasn’t about to let them believe they did. “Contrary to what they may think, they are not untouchable. They can be arrested, tried, and convicted in the court of law, just like anyone else.”

“With all due respect, Sheriff, I don’t think you fully grasp the length of the Argents reach in Beacon Hills.” Deaton said despondently. “For generations, they have made a career out of going from town-to-town and murdering werewolf packs, entire families, and they have always gotten away with it.”

“I am painfully aware of that.” They had gone years without being punished for killing the Hales, and John would never forgive himself for not solving the case and prosecuting Kate before Peter had a chance to kill her. “They paid off the arson investigator to say the fire was caused by faulty wiring to get away with the Hale murders.”

“That is what they do, threats and payoffs, but that’s not all. They are playing the long game here. They will attempt to infiltrate any official position that could be beneficial to their cause.” Deaton spoke as someone who obviously had previous run-ins with the Argents, possibly more than once. “They have already begun at the high school. Gerard has replaced the principal without so much as an interview or school board meeting. They are setting up for a takeover.”

“That is not going to happen. I will not let them bully and terrorize this town.” He had watched that happen to one town already, he wouldn’t do it again. “Look, a biker club called the Sons of Anarchy used the same tactics to destroy the town I grew up in. I will not let the Argents do the same here.”

“You may not have a choice.”

* * *

 

Arguing with a Winchester or trying to use real-world logic with them in any way was an art form. It required a special technique, a delicateness to prevent spooking them. Stiles had been around them long enough to become a pro at it.

“Dean,” Stiles set a cold beer in front of the hunter. “You can’t stay here, dude.”

“What?” Dean grunted around a mouthful of food. “Why not?”

“You’re a wanted fugitive. My dad is a sheriff.” The two things were notoriously bad combinations. “Do the math.”

“I’ve been a fugitive for a couple years now.” Dean reminded him. “What changed?”

“An ATF agent with a grudge knows that you and I are associates.” He had a feeling Stahl would capitalize on that as soon as she thought she had an opening. “You can stay long enough to finish your burger, but then you gotta go.”

“Where am I supposed to go on short notice?” The older man whined. “I can’t go back to Charming until the heat dies down.”

“Normally, I would suggest Piney’s cabin, but it’s currently unavailable.” The club had the injured Irishman, Cameron Hayes, up there. “But Derek, your new little brother, owns an entire apartment building. I called Sam on my way to town. He’s setting up one of the empty units for you to use as a safe house.”

“You know what, that’s actually a good idea.” Dean praised him.

“I do have them on occasion.” Not as often as he’d like, but often enough. “So once you’re done eating, you gotta head over there. I made you an extra burger to take with if you, for if you get hungry later. I’ll stop by before school in the morning to drop off some groceries. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean grudgingly agreed. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Taking care of the club’s significant others was part of his job. “Eat up, bro.”

Stiles turned back to the stove to flip the hamburger still cooking, when the sudden jiggle of a doorknob brought his attention to the front of the house. The muffled cursing from the porch, followed by a metallic jingle of keys told him it was not some intruder trying to break into his home, only his big brother. Jax practically slammed into the house, giving the door a hard kick as he did so, and was promptly greeted by the loud screeching of the alarm system.

“What the fuck?” Jax shrieked and covered his ears.

“Put in the code, Jackson!” Stiles waved the spatula at the keypad on the wall by the coat rack. “It’s Mom and Dad’s first date.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific!” His brother shrilled, shouting across the house.

“10-31-99.” Anniversaries were generally frowned upon when it came to passwords, and but they never got around to changing it. “Put it in!”

“I got it. I got it!” Jax hastily inputted the numbers, sagging in relief when the damn thing finally shut the hell up. “The front door was locked. The security system was armed. What the hell is going on?”

“I always lock the front door and arm the security system.” His father had drilled those to tasks into his mind when he was a child. “I usually turn it off when I know you’re coming over, but I’m a little busy at the moment. Sorry.”

“Apology not accepted.” Jax huffed as he stomped into the kitchen, taking a long whiff of what was cooking. “Smells good. Is that for me?”

“It is now.” Stiles slid the hamburger onto a bun and passed the plate to his brother. “Dean brought beer, it’s in the fridge”

“Oh, awesome.” Jax set his plate on the table next to Dean’s and made his way to the fridge. “I could use something stronger, but I’ll settle for a beer.”

“What happened?” Stiles asked as he dumped another beef patty onto the skillet. “Your midnight raid of Charming PD not go as planned?”

“We ended up having to bust Cherry out to keep her from ratting us all out.” Jax groused as he took a beer from the fridge and popped the cap off. “So, no, it didn’t go as planned.”

“Shocking.” Stiles mumbled under his breath.

“I heard that.” His brother thumped on the back of the head as he passed him on his way to the table. “I’m sure you think you could’ve come up with a better plan.”

“I’m sure he _has_ a better one.” Dean commented, earning himself a kick to the shin from Jax. “Ow. Douchebag.”

“Okay, Stiles, I’m listening.” Jax gave him the floor. “What was your big plan?”

“Never said I had one.” Who was he kidding, he totally had one. “Off the top of my head, I’d suggest an oldie but a goodie. You could have sent a coded message to Luann or Otto through the lawyers. It’s worked for you guys before.”

“That, my friend, is a good plan.” Dean gave him a double thumbs-up. “Cherry never could have conned you into breaking her out if you hadn’t broken into the station in the first place, Jackson.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Jax leveled Stiles with his most menacing glare. “What the hell, Stiles?”

“What? What did I do?”

“You had a better plan,” Jax remarked curtly. “If you had a better plan, why didn’t you say something when we were at the clubhouse, after I told you about my plan?”

“Uh, good question.” Stiles was fairly certain his brother would not appreciate the answer. “I was being nice and considerate and non-judgmental of you and your plan, however reckless and poorly thought out it may have been.”

“What the f….” Jax pinched the bridge of his nose and struggled to understand. “W-Why would you do something like that? If you thought my plan was poorly thought out, you should have fucking said something!”

“I was told recently that my lack of tact and constant criticism toward you and the club could be construed as bullying behavior.” Objectively, Stiles could see how that behavior might affect his brother and members of the club. “So, I’m changing. I’m going to be better, take your feelings into account more when I speak, and be more respectful of you and your ideas.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You know, everyone keeps saying that.” As it was, his dad was the only person who supported his decision. “Excuse the hell out of me for trying to be nice.”

“We don’t keep you around ‘cause your nice.” Jax squawked comically. “We keep you around to stop us from doing stupid shit.”

“Jax, no.” Dean facepalmed.

“I save you from your own stupidity,” Well, Stiles couldn’t argue with that, but it was the other part of his brother’s statement that concerned him. “That’s why you _keep me around_?”

“Yes.” Jax retorted before quickly backtracking when he realized it was the wrong thing to say. “Oh, no. No, no. I mean, yes, it is _a_ reason we keep you around, but it’s not the _whole_ reason. It’s not the _main_ reason.”

“And what is the main reason?” Stiles couldn’t wait to hear what he did that his brother found useful enough to qualify him as a member of the club’s entourage.

“I love having you close.” Jax made an interesting word swap there, ‘ _having you close’_ sounded much better than _‘keeping you around.’_ “You’re my baby brother, and one of my favorite people.”

“Uh huh.” Oh yeah, Stiles totally believed that. “No. Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

“Don’t do that.” Jax snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Don’t do that passive-aggressive wife thing.”

“Oh, so I’m your wife now?” And here he thought he was just Jax’s little brother and an unwitting club groupie.

“It does seem that way sometimes.” Jax confessed without shame.

“You are on a roll today, Jax.” Dean snickered. “The best thing is, you realized what you were saying was stupid as you were saying it, but you kept with it. That takes commitment.”

“I wouldn’t call it commitment.” If Stiles were still being judgmental, he would call it idiocy. “In the spirit of being nicer, I’m gonna give you a free pass on everything you just said, just this once. Let’s change the subject, huh? Let’s veer back to Cherry for a minute. She threatened to rat, you broke her out of jail. What are you gonna do with her now?”

“She’s gonna hitch a ride across the pond.” Jax revealed, relaxing in his chair. “We’re gonna set her up with SAMBEL.”

“Let me get this straight, the ATF jams her up, and she tells you she’s gonna roll on your charter,” To be fair to Cherry, it was probably empty threat made out of fear, not something she would follow through on. “Your response to that is to send her to Belfast and integrate her into yet another charter. So, the next time law enforcement, the Irish police or Interpol, puts her in a tight spot, she will have information on _three_ of your charters, Indian Hills, SAMCRO, and SAMBEL. Information she can exchange for her freedom.”

“She wouldn’t do that.” Jax claimed weakly. “She’s going to Belfast and she’s gonna keep her head down. So long as she does that, that cops will have no reason to bother her.”

“Right.” Except Cherry was still a fugitive and Ireland had an extradition treaty with the United States, but apparently no one was worried about that. “Sounds like a real foolproof plan. I hope it works out for her.”

“No, you don’t.” His brother snorted. “You’re hoping she rats, just so you can gloat about how I was wrong and you were right. If you weren’t playing up this ‘be nicer’ ruse, you’d berate me for my plan, and very forcefully demand I go along with yours.”

“I don’t have a plan for Cherry.” Although, keeping her away from _every_ Sons of Anarchy charter, seemed like a good place to start. “And it’s not a ruse. I’m serious about this. I am going to be a more sympathetic and thoughtful person.”

“Buddy, you are already a sympathetic and thoughtful person, but you’re also an asshole. It sort of balances out, you know, sometimes, not really though.” Jax acknowledged wryly. “And no offense, kiddo, but I don’t think you could keep this up for a week. Someone is going to say or do something that pisses you off, and without thinking, you are going start throwing insults at ‘em. You can’t help yourself. It’s who you are.”

“A week? You think he can last an entire week? Man, I give it two days before this little charade is up. Hey, I can end this right now!” Dean jeered and smacked a palm to the tabletop excitedly. “Stiles, I heard you had a run-in with Derek’s pups earlier.”

“Just the she-wolf.” His head still hurt from where she’d hit him. “I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“Ah, that’s too bad.” The hunter said consolingly. “Maybe you’ll get on better with one of the other three betas.”

“I doubt it.” Boyd and Isaac had been ambivalent about him before they were bitten, Stiles didn’t see that changing just because they were werewolves. “And there’s only two other betas. Derek has three all together, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd.”

“And Jackson Whittemore.” Dean carelessly dropped the bomb and waited for the fireworks. “Whittemore cornered Derek not long after he became the alpha. He begged Derek for the bite and Derek gave it to him, bringing the total to four betas.”

“Didn’t you slug that Whittemore kid awhile back?” Jax chortled like he had personally witnessed the incident.

“Yes.” Stiles confirmed as he flicked off the stove and moved the skillet to a different burner. “There are fries in the oven, don’t let them burn while I’m gone.”

“Where you going?”

“Upstairs to get my gun and wolfsbane bullets.” The spare keys to his dad’s SUV were up there too, he would need those if he didn’t want to walk to his destination. “Then I‘m gonna go play target practice with a power-hungry douchebag.”

“Derek or Whittemore?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll decide in the car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Stiles and Derek are left to tread water. Gemma and Melissa confront each other about their respective sons' recent actions. Dean and Sam's legal problems find them in Beacon Hills.


	11. Jus In Bello

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Violence. Non-Canonical Character Death.  
> Gif sets: [Hannibal Lector](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/159587428349/charming-wayward-sons-verse-hannibal-lector), [Lonely](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/160149065734/charming-wayward-sons-verse-i-didnt-want-you), [Balthazar's Warning](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/161495625769/charming-wayward-sons-verse-balthazars-warning), [Empathy](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/160944449569/charming-wayward-sons-verse-empathy-what-are), [Imaginary Friend](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/159539824369/charming-wayward-sons-verse-imaginary-friend-if)  
> Episodes: [SPN] 3x12 Jus In Bello, [TW] 2x04 Abomination

Stiles knew his way around cars, okay? He’d been tinkering around under hoods since he could walk. It was a hazard of growing up in a garage with a bunch of grease monkeys who were all too happy to share their craft with a hyperactive little kid. Cars, trucks, motorcycles, you name it he could probably fix it. There was no vehicle he enjoyed working on more than his Jeep, Roscoe.

Roscoe had been sitting idle for ten years in an old storage unit, buried beneath boxes of baseball memorabilia, when Stiles had gotten to him. Honestly, the Jeep had been falling apart, on its last leg, when it was parked, and a decade of doing nothing but collect rust and dust didn’t do it any favors. Stiles had spent an entire summer taking it apart piece-by-piece, putting it back together, and sprucing it up. By the time he was finished, Roscoe might as well have been branch new again, rolling off the factory line.

Stiles had put his heart, soul, blood, sweat, and tears into that Jeep, okay? Inherited or not, Roscoe was his baby, and he was incredibly protective of it. So, it was fair to say it was hard for him to loosen the reins and allow someone else to work on it.

Hindsight, taking Roscoe to the _Armor Tire and Service Center_ in Beacon Hills instead of _Teller-Morrow_ was a piss poor idea on his part, and he was already regretting it. There was something about having an unfamiliar mechanic root around inside Roscoe’s engine that made his skin crawl.

“You should have just done the repairs yourself at home, dumbass. Why the fuck didn’t you just do that?” Stiles berated himself as he paced beside a large tool cabinet, which only served as a reminder of why he was there to begin with. “Tools, duh. You don’t have the right tools at home, stupid.”

At TM, he would have access to any and every tool he would need. At home, not so much. His dad wasn’t a car guy, like at all. They didn’t collect tools they might need someday, and prominently display them in the garage like dudes in movies and television did. Nope. You know what was in their garage? Art supplies, some old science fair projects, and fishing gear. That was it. There was nothing at all useful for automotive repair.

“Gonna get me some tools for home.” Stiles vowed as his phone suddenly blared to life, startling him out of his stupor. “Shit fuck. _Hello_?”

 _“You weren’t at work this afternoon.”_ Juice’s disappointment filtered over the line. _“Gem said you were supposed to be, but I had to work by myself.”_

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I had some…technical difficulties.” Stiles glanced over at that particular difficulty, which was currently being placed on a hydraulic lift. “Oh, what the fuck? Hey! Hey? Wh-What do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” The mechanic grunted irritably, peering at the Jeep’s undercarriage.

“All I need is a starter.” Stiles said as he approached the other man. “A starter, nothing else.”

 _“Stiles, are you…are you at another repair shop?”_ Juice questioned in a hushed whisper, as though it were such a scandal that he couldn’t dare let anyone overhear. _“Stiles, are you?”_

“No.” He lied and tried to ignore the shame it left him with. For fuck sake, taking his Jeep to a garage other than TM did not make him a traitor. “No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It looks like your whole exhaust system has to be replaced.” The mechanic gestured to the area with a wrench. “It’s probably gonna run you around twelve-hundred, parts and labor.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Stiles knew when he was being conned, and this guy was seriously over-estimating the damage. “This thing doesn’t even have a catalytic converter. And yes, I know what a catalytic converter is.”

“Do you know what a limited-slip differential is?” The mechanic asked in a tone that suggested Stiles was some kind of idiot.

“Yeah, if a wheel slips, it shifts torque to one with more traction.” Stiles was young and pretty, that didn’t make him stupid. “I’m a mechanic too.”

 _“Not for long if Clay finds out you’ve been two-timing TM.”_ Juice tutted into his ear.

“Not a very good one if you’re bringing this to me.” The mechanic criticized, tapping his wrench against the Jeep’s step bar. “And we’re coming on more like fifteen-hundred for all the repairs this hunk of junk needs.”

“Like hell.” There was no way Stiles would be shelling out that kind of money for repairs this dickbag was pulling out of thin air. “You are going to put in a new starter and only a new starter. That is all I am paying you to do. Anything else you do is on your own dime, got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.” The mechanic huffed, rolling his eyes. “One starter coming up.”

“Good.”

 _“Stiles, you don’t start shit with people who have access to your brake line.”_ Juice chastised.

“Just finish it, all right, man? I’ll be back here.” Stiles waved a hand toward the bank of chairs in the other room. “Seething with impotent rage.”

Stiles reluctantly left Roscoe in the hands of the sketchy mechanic, stalking over to the door of the small waiting area. He wrapped his fingers around the knob, twisting it open, feeling a sticky substance coating his palm.

“Oh gross.” He yanked his hands free from knob and tried uselessly to shake off the colorless goop, settling for wiping it on his jeans. “Nice. It’s a real sanitary establishment you’re running here!”

 _“Brake line, Stiles!”_ Juice shouted over the receiver. “ _Why are you even at_ that _repair shop_?”

“Do you have any idea how much it costs to tow the Jeep to TM?” Even with his family and employee discounts, the tow alone took up nearly the entirety of his ‘Roscoe’s Repairs’ budget. “I can’t afford to keep having it towed just because werewolves keep messing with it.”

 _“Why don’t you have Derek pay for it?”_ Juice suggested pragmatically. _“It was his beta that fucked it up.”_

“Derek and I aren’t on speaking terms at the moment.” They were at a slight impasse in their relationship. “We had a difference of opinion. He thought it was okay to turn a douchebag with anger issues into a werewolf, and I thought it was okay to shoot him in the ass.”

_“Derek or the douchebag?”_

“Derek.” Stiles said proudly as he moved his hand to adjust the phone at his ear, only for the appendage to remain absolutely still. “What the fuck?”

_“Stiles?”_

"I don’t know,” He tried to move his left hand when the right failed him, but received the same response, nothing. His hands refused to move, didn’t even twitch, they were totally immobile, as if they were not receiving the signals his brain was sending. “Juice?”

_“Stiles, what is going on?”_

“I-I don’t….” Stiles breathing picked up as panic set in and his cellphone slipped from his lax grip. “Shit.”

 _“Stiles!”_ Juice’s worry-laden voice yelled from the device.

Stiles swiveled his head toward the vehicle bay where his Jeep was high on the lift, hoping to capture the mechanics attention. He was caught off guard by the sight of a lizard-like creature crawling down the side of his Jeep, heading straight for the unsuspecting mechanic. Stiles opened his mouth to speak, to shout out a warning, but the words wouldn’t form and all that left his lips was a rush of air.

The lizard made a calculated move toward the mechanic, scratching the back of his neck. Stiles stepped forward, wanting to help the other man, only to have his entire body seize, locking up before he collapsed to the floor in a heap.

 _“Stiles? Stiles!”_ Juice shouted from the phone. _“Stiles, hold on. I’m gonna call your dad, just hold on.”_

Through the open door separating the waiting area from the garage, Stiles had a clear view of the mechanic and the lizard. He watched powerlessly as the mechanic hit the ground about a half-second after he did, landing just beneath the Jeep. It was a dangerous place to be it turned out when the lizard’s claws sliced the hydraulic line, lowering the lift.

“Help me. Help me. Help!” The mechanic cried as he realized his predicament. “H-Help me.”

Stiles couldn’t move to assist him, no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn’t turn his head to look away or squeeze his eyes shut to block the view from his sight. He was forced to watch as his Jeep descended upon the man he’d been arguing with just minutes earlier. The sickening crunch of bones might as well have been gunshots for the way they echoed in his ears.

* * *

 

Immediately after Juice had burst through his front door, shouting that something or someone had attacked Stiles, Jax had called Dean. The hunter was in close proximity to Stiles, could be there for him until Jax and Juice could get there. And Dean didn’t let him down, he was waiting patiently for them when they rushed into Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital.

“He’s fine. There’s not a scratch on him.” Dean assured them as he stood from his chair. “This is just a precaution.”

“Precaution for what?” If Stiles hadn’t been physically harmed then something else must have happened. “He on psych hold or something? They waiting to see if he has a mental breakdown? What?”

“No, Jax, nothing like that.” Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Some kind of paralytic got into his system. They just want to make sure there’s not any adverse side-effects from it.”

“Paralytic? He was…paralyzed?” Jax couldn’t imagine how fucking terrifying that must have been for his brother, to lay there helpless, unable to move. “Is he okay? How was he when you saw him?”

“I didn’t see him. He was already in an exam room when I got here.” Dean nodded to the double doors that led to the patient rooms. “I barely had a minute to talk to Stilinski. He could only give me the bare minimum before he had to get back to Stiles. Apparently he has some kind of fear of leaving Stiles alone in a hospital, even for a few minutes.”

“Stiles has panic attacks if he’s by himself at a hospital.” Jax might have the same reaction had he spent as much time in hospitals as his brother had. “What did John tell you about what happened?”

“The mechanic working on Stiles Jeep was crushed to death beneath it after something cut the hydraulics on the lift.” Dean offered them what little information he had, then turned his imploring gaze on the younger Son standing next to Jax. “What about you, Juice? You were on the phone with Stiles while it was going down. Did you hear anything?”

“The mechanics screams, Stiles breathing.” Juice recalled, chewing on the side of his cheek anxiously. “And a hiss. After the mechanic…stopped screaming, there was a loud hiss. Not like a cat. I think it was some kind of reptile. All I know is it freaked Stiles the hell out, he started to hyperventilate.”

“So we’re thinking, what, this is some kind of reptile creature with paralytic toxins?” Dean muttered, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Well, it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve ever come across.”

“I don’t really give a shit what it is right now.” Jax couldn’t care less about what had killed the mechanic, he was more worried about the other victim in all this. “I need to see my brother. It’s been almost two hours, the doctor should be done by now, right?”

“Right.” Stiles hoarse voice called out from behind him. “They’re done with me.”

Jax whipped around to see his little brother standing outside the double doors, his father at his side. He quickly made his way over to the kid, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. Stiles didn’t fight him, he rested his head on Jax’s shoulder, but didn’t return the embrace, kept his hands firmly lodged in his pocket.

“Okay, little brother?” Jax stepped back, giving the younger man a onceover, trying to detect any injuries he could have suffered.

“I’m fine.” Stiles mustered up a smile as proof. “Doctors wouldn’t be releasing me if I wasn’t.”

“After monitoring him, they don’t think the any side-effects of whatever toxin caused the paralysis, but they told me to watching him closely at home, just in case.” John explained, rubbing his son’s back comfortingly. “He should be okay.”

“You probably have to go back to work, huh? With a dead guy and all, they’ll need the sheriff.” Jax knew that meant Stiles would end up crashing at the station. “I can take Stiles home, keep an eye on him.”

“I can’t go to your place tonight. I have school tomorrow, a test in econ that I can’t miss.” Stiles protested weakly. “You’d have to stay at my house with me.”

“That’s fine, buddy.” Jax had no problems with that.

“No, it’s not.” Stiles took a hand from his pocket to rub his tired eyes. “I can barely stay awake as it is, I’m gonna end up falling asleep as soon as I get home. You’ll have no one to watch your back if that thing comes looking for me.”

“I’ll do it.” Juice volunteered, hoping to placate the frightened teenager. “I’ll stay and watch his back.”

“And I’ll go out and look for whatever attacked you and the mechanic. The garage would be a good place to start,” Dean decided, looking to John. “Mind if I tag along with you, Sheriff?”

“Not at all.” John said as he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around his son’s shoulders. “He might prefer I have hunter back-up, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded and gently addressed Stiles. “You wanna tell me what attacked you?”

“It was like a big lizard, human size. Its eyes were definitely reptilian, and there was something about them.” Stiles pulled his dad’s jacket tightly around him, like a shield. “It’s like when you see a friend in a Halloween mask, all you can see are their eyes, and you feel like you know ‘em, but you just can’t figure out who it is.”

“Are you saying you know who it is?” John asked, his brows knitted together in concern. “Buddy, he can’t hurt you, no one here is going to let that happen. So if you know who it is—“

“I don’t know who it is, but I think it knew me.”

* * *

 

Dean did not appreciate being rudely woken up by a phone call from his brother at six o’clock in the morning, unless it was a life-or-death emergency. Nevertheless, he pushed past his irritation, got into the Impala, and drove to the loft to meet his brother. Sam didn’t give him a chance to get out of the car, he just climbed right in and ordered Dean to drive to a motel on the outskirts of town. He might have elected to stay at the loft or Stilinski house if he knew it would all lead to an early morning B&E.

“You gonna tell me what the hell this is about?“ Dean questioned as he picked the lock on a motel room door. “I mean, I was out half the night looking for that lizard with Stilinski. We finally get back to the house and Juice had already claimed the couch, stretching across it like a goddamn cat. I had to sleep in the recliner, which was surprisingly comfortable, until you called at ass o’clock—“

“Bela, Dean, this is about Bela and the Colt.” Sam impatiently cut off Dean’s rant. “She called me this morning. She knew we were in Beacon Hills, said she was tired of us chasing her, and she’s ready to make a deal to give us back the Colt. This is her motel room.”

“That doesn’t sound like Bela.” Dean murmured as the lock’s tumbler finally clicked into place, granting them access to the room.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re breaking in instead of knocking.” Sam pushed past Dean into the empty room. “She’s not here.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Dean could see the vacancy of the room without his brother’s input. “Why would she lead us here if she wasn’t going to meet us?”

“Maybe she got spooked.” Sam theorized, shrugging his shoulders. “Let’s look around. Maybe she left something behind.”

Sam moved to check the wall safe, while Dean began searching through the dresser drawers. They both came up empty, too empty, like Bela had booked the room but hadn’t stepped foot in it. Dean turned to his brother, prepared to lay into him for leading them on a wild goose chase, when the phone on the nightstand began to ring.

“She’s screwing with us.” Dean growled, yanking the phone off the hook and bringing it to his ear. “Where are you?”

 _“Two states away by now.”_ Bela said smugly.

“Where?” Dean would clear two states in record time if it meant getting his hands on her.

_“Where’s our quippy banter? I miss it.”_

“I want it back, Bela.” He did not have the patience to do the back-and-forth thing with her. “Now.”

 _“Your little pistol, you mean?”_ Only she could refer to the only gun in existence that could kill demons as a _little pistol_. _“Sorry, I can’t at the moment.”_

“You understand how many people are going to die if you do this?” He had a feeling she did, she just didn’t give a shit.

_“What exactly is it that you think I plan to do with it?”_

“Take the only weapon we have against an army of demons and sell it to the highest bidder.” He was willing to bet it’d fetch a pretty penny from one of her clients or on the black market.

 _“You know nothing about me.”_ She said tersely.

“I know I’m gonna stop you.”

 _“Tough words for a guy who can’t even find me.”_ She taunted.

“Oh, I’ll find you, sweetheart.” He would use every second he had left locating her if he had to. “I have absolutely nothing better to do than track you down.”

 _“That’s where you’re wrong.”_ She clucked her tongue. _“You’re about to be quite occupied.”_

As if she had summoned them, and let’s be real, she probably had, two police officers with guns drawn kicked in the door. They were locals, it seemed, both wearing Beacon Hills County Sheriff’s Department uniforms, although Dean wasn’t sure so that would work in their favor or not.

“That bitch!” Dean snarled, throwing the phone violently against the wall, relishing in the way it shattered.

“Hands in the air!” One of the deputies ordered them. “On your knees!”

He and Sam knew better than to disobey the police when they had no exit strategy. They both complied with the instructions, sinking to their knees with their hands high above their heads. The second officer came up behind them, pushing them to the floor until they were lying flat on their stomachs.

“Sam and Dean Winchester, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.” The officer read them their rights as their arms were wrenched behind their backs and their wrists were cuffed. “You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you at government expense.”

Dean could easily tune out the droning voice of the deputy, but he could not ignore the footsteps of someone sauntering toward them. He and Sam lifted their gazes to the man’s face, finding none other than Special Agent Victor Henriksen staring down at them.

“Hi guys,” A shit-eating grin spread over Henriksen’s lips. “It’s been a while.”

* * *

 

Gemma arrived at the Stilinski residence bright and early, determined to finally get to the bottom of whatever the hell was going on with Dean. She wasn’t expecting to see Jax and Juice’s bikes parked in the driveway, but she did not let it distract her from her current objective. She pushed open the unlocked front door, and breathed a long sigh of relief when the alarm system didn’t start screaming at her as soon as she crossed the threshold.

She found John and Juice enjoying their morning coffee at the dining room table. Juice was chowing down on a bowl of fruit loops while, uncharacteristically, sitting as close to John he could get without actually sitting on his lap. John sat forward in his chair with a large sketchpad held in one hand, a pencil in the other.

He swept the pencil over the paper with careful precision, glancing up every so often to get a better look at what Gemma could only assume was a rough model for what he was drawing. Juice watched the process with avid fascination, and Gemma couldn’t blame him, she was intrigued too, up until she registered what the model for John’s sketch actually was.

“Is that a human skull?” She wanted to believe it was fake, but with the Stilinski’s it could go either way. “A _real_ human skull?”

“Yes.” Damn John and his honest answers, god forbid the man lie once in a while.

“Why is it on your dinner table?”

“I get lonely.” He deadpanned, earning a chuckle from Juice.

“You got body parts lying around the house, and we wonder why Stiles is fucked up.” Gemma would take comfort in not being the only one at fault Stiles more questionable personality traits. “Seriously, why do you have that?”

“I’m doing a facial reconstruction for the forensic lab in Stockton. They need a face to run the victim through the missing persons database.” John explained, continuing on with his sketch. “It’s my other job. Raising a child is expensive and my sheriff’s salary isn’t going to pay for an Ivy League education.”

“If that’s a subtle hint that you want help to pay for Stiles college, I heard it loud and clear.” She just didn’t see the point in Stiles wasting another four years of his life and $150,000 on more schooling after high school. “You know, when your daddy was putting you in all those art classes growing up, I doubt he expected you to use your talents for something so creepy.”

“You know, when your dad was teaching you to plant seed growing up, I doubt he expected you to use your green thumb to grow weed.” John countered with a sly smirk.

“Touché.” Gemma would let him have that one. “What’s with the full house? You trying to steal all my boys away from me?”

“I didn’t steal any of them. You gave Stiles to me.” John reminded her, annoyance lacing his tone. “The others just kind of wander in like stray cats.”

“Actually, Jax and I rode up last night after Stiles was attacked by a humanoid lizard thing.” Juice told her, eyes never straying from John’s drawing. “He’s fine, don’t worry.”

“I’m not even gonna ask about the lizard.” She would assume John and the Winchesters had that shit under control. “Where are my boys?”

“I’m right the fuck here. Stiles is getting ready for school.” Jax stomped in angrily, dropping a bundle of brochures and pamphlets on the table in front of John. “What the hell is this shit?”

“Uh,” John peered over his sketchpad to eye the items Jax had dumped. “Information packets for universities Stiles is thinking of applying to.”

“Like hell he is. T-These are for colleges all over the fucking country.” Jax shrieked, snatching a few select packs from thick pile. “Georgetown, Harvard, NYU, MIT—“

“I got in to MIT.” Juice snatched the brochure out of Jax’s hands. “My sister made me apply when I was sixteen. She thought school might straighten me out.”

“Your sister sounds like a smart girl.” John commented. “Why didn’t you go?”

“Oh, my mom walked in on me doing a line of coke off the acceptance letter and sent me to rehab instead.” Juice confessed sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Sixteen year old me was an idiot.”

“Adult you is an idiot.” Jax snapped and turned his withering scowl on John. “One of these stupid packets is for a university that’s not even in this country.”

“Just one?” John asked sardonically, setting his pencil and sketchpad down. “Jackson, he’s just browsing, seeing what his options are.”

“His options are within a two-hour drive from Charming.” Jax declared with finality in his voice, as if he believed his words were law. “He is not going out of state, let alone out of the country.”

“Stiles will go to whatever university he chooses to go to.” John said calmly. “That could be here in California or it could be in Maine. I don’t know. It is his decision. If he wants to go across the country and explore who he is outside Charming and Beacon Hills, spread his wings and all that, that is his choice. It’ll be hard, it really will be, but we will accept it.”

“No, we don’t have to accept shit. We just have to make it so he never wants to leave.” Jax smacked his palm to the table and pinned Juice with a hard stare. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but you need to lock that shit down, Juice. You gotta take one for the team. Get Stiles in your bed, in a relationship, so when the time comes for him to pick a college, he’ll want to stay close to you.”

“Jesus, Jackson.” Gemma could barely contain the urge to pop her eldest upside the head.

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.” Juice set his jaw, glaring daggers at his VP. “I dig Stiles, like a lot. If he and I are ever going to be together, it will be because we want to be, not because you want to manipulate him into not leaving _you_.”

“Good answer.” John grinned approvingly at the younger man. “And shame on you, Jax, for trying to do something like that to your own brother.”

“What’s Jax trying to do to me?” Stiles questioned through a yawn as he shuffled in from the hall.

“He wants me to whore myself out to you.” Juice revealed to the teenager, selling Jax out. “So you won’t go far away for college. That’s a lot of faith to put in my dick, not to mention a fucked up thing to do to you. I told him no.”

“Good.” Stiles smiled softly, making his way around the table to where Juice sat, hooking a finger beneath Juice’s chin to tilt his head up. “I’d never want you if you didn’t want me too.”

“Yeah,” Juice sighed breathlessly, his eyes flickering briefly to Stiles lips. “Me too.”

“Good.” Stiles repeated, leaning down to press a peck to Juice’s cheek.

“Let’s keep the kisses to the cheeks for the foreseeable future.” John advised as the landline phone began ringing from them kitchen. “Oh, I need to get that.”

“You and I still need to have that talk.” Gemma said as he pulled himself out of his chair. “I didn’t drive up here this early to look at the skull on your table.”

“We’ll talk.” John promised as he retreated to the kitchen.

“Okay,” Gemma made a mental note to hold him to that before setting her sights on her youngest son. “Stiles, Juice told me you were attacked by lizard-man last night.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Stiles cringed, going a little green around the gills. “I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of that guy getting smushed by my Jeep out of my head.”

“You ran some poor bastard over with your Jeep?” Okay, that wasn’t really surprising, she always figured it would happen one day, and it’d more than likely be intentional. “I knew this would happen after you got your license.”

“I did not run anybody over,” He retorted indignantly, sliding into the chair his father had vacated. “The lizard paralyzed a dude, who happened to be standing under my Jeep at the time, then it cut the hydraulics on the lift, slamming my Jeep down on top of the guy.”

“Gotcha.” There was just one little thing about that story that wasn’t sitting well with her. “Your Jeep was on a lift, huh? You were at another garage?”

“As I told him,” Stiles thrust an arm out toward Juice. “I cannot afford to keep towing the Jeep to Charming. It’s bad enough most of my paychecks go to gas just to get me to and from work. So, I could have it towed to TM, then I’d have to save about two or three checks just to pay the repairs, and once those are done, I wouldn’t even be able to drive it, because I won’t have any money left for gas.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jax grumbled, taking his wallet out and removing a plastic card. “Take this, for gas and shit to get you to Charming.”

“You have a credit card….” Stiles eyed the plastic apprehensively. “It’s in your name and everything. I don’t remember helping you fill out the form to get one.”

“You know, I don’t actually need your help to do everything.” Jax pushed the card into the palm of his brother’s hand.

“Since when?” Juice quipped with a snort, getting a middle-fingered salute from Jax in return.

“Damn it, Jax, you have to tell me when you do shit like this,” Stiles groused, waving the card in the air. “So I can work the expense into your budget.”

“Maybe I didn’t tell you, because your budget it bullshit.” Jax huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You somehow managed to get my checks from TM direct-deposited into a bank account that I don’t even have access to, and you give me an allowance once a week like I’m a child.”

“You’re on a budget so your bills get paid on time, so you don’t lose your house or your precious bike.” Stiles remarked in a clipped tone. “If you were more financially responsible you would be in charge of your own money.”

“I pay for the credit card.” Gemma interjected to put an end to her boys little squabble. “It was for emergencies, but you can use it for gas.”

“Oh,” Stiles gave the card a considering look, as if he was thinking about giving it back. “Thanks.”

“Hey guys, I gotta go into work,” John announced as he stepped out of the kitchen. “Some fed is bringing in two fugitives and wants to lockdown my station.”

“Stahl?”

“No, someone named Henriksen.” John said as he picked his keys up off the table. “Gemma, if you come by on my lunch hour, we can have that talk. Can one of you take Stiles to school?”

“Juice and I will do it.” Jax offered. “We’re gonna stick around town today, scope things out.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Special Agent Henriksen wasn’t a pleasant man, John could sense that right off the bat. He ordered the deputies around like they were his soldiers and he was their general. There was not a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ that ever left his lips. John almost wanted to dare the guy to try that shit on him.

“Agent Henriksen,” John cleared his throat to pull the agents attention away from the deputies and onto him. “You released two men brought in for D&Ds, and you posted my available deputies at every exit. So unless you cleared out my station to take a quiet nap, I suggest you bring in your fugitives.”

“Look, Sheriff, I get it, you’re Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department,” Henriksen acknowledged condescendingly. “But trust me, you’ve never dealt with anything like this, like them before.”

“Agent Henriksen, I get that you’re the FBI,” John mimicked the agents patronizing tone. “But trust me, you’ve never been in a town like Beacon Hills before. I’ve dealt with things you’ve never even heard of. I doubt the men you’re bringing in even rate on our weird-shit meter, but by all means, wow me.”

“Well, I guess we’re as ready as we’re gonna be,” Henriksen brought a walkie-talkie up to his mouth. “Reidy, bring them in.”

There was an unofficial order these little perp walks went in. The law enforcement official with the highest rank led the charge, sashaying in like they were hot shit, in this case a federal agent, while four deputies bracketed the prisoners to prevent any escape attempts. The only thing out of the ordinary this time around was the perps being all too recognizable.

“Ah crap,” John groaned as he watched Sam and Dean Winchester being brought in. “These _boys_ are the ‘deranged psychopaths’ you have my deputies on high alert about, Agent Henriksen? These two eluded you for nearly a year? These two? Really?”

“Think Hannibal Lector and his half-wit little brother.” Henriksen sneered over his shoulder at his prisoners. “Do you know what these guys do for kicks? Dig up graves and mutilate corpses. They’re not just killers, Sheriff. They’re Satan-worshipping, nutbag killers.”

“Right.” John had a slightly different opinion of the Winchesters, but he couldn’t argue it without implicating himself. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Howdy, Sheriff.” Dean grinned like a cat who just caught the canary. “You didn’t have to clear the station out just for us.”

“You know these men, Sheriff?” Henriksen questioned curtly.

“Never seen ‘em before in my life.” There was nothing Henriksen could do to get him to say differently. “Outside of a wanted poster anyway.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind showing them their cell? It is your station after all.” It may have been posed as a request, but Henriksen’s expectant look suggested it was anything but. “I’d do it, but I have to call my boss, the director of the FBI, let him know the Winchesters are in custody.”

“Maybe you’ll actually keep us in custody this time.” Apparently, Dean’s cockiness couldn’t be impaired by something as silly as shackles around his ankles and wrists. “It’s doubtful, though.”

“Let’s go, Mr. Winchester.” John wrapped his hand around Dean’s bicep and guided him out of Henriksen’s line of fire.

“Hey! Hey!” The older Winchester batted at his hands as John forcibly escorted them down the hall to the holding area. “Watch the merchandise.”

“Watch your mouth when talking to people like Henriksen.” John hissed, hoping like hell he fed couldn’t hear him. “You do not taunt federal agents.”

“Stiles taunted the ATF lady, twice.”

“Stiles isn’t a wanted fugitive.” Not that it made taunting Stahl okay, it was just better circumstances. “She wasn’t trying to put him in a dark cell for the rest of his natural life.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Dean waved off the scolding. “We’ll keep our mouths shut from now on”

“Somehow I doubt that.” John muttered as he opened a cell door and ushered them in. “Come on. In.”

“Wait. What?” Dean stumbled back, bumping into his brother. “You’re not gonna let us go?”

“What would you like me to do, walk you out the back door one of my deputies is guarding?” John wondered if the kid was always dense or if he was just having an off day. “We’ll all end up behind bars.”

“You could tell them we knocked you out.” Dean suggested with the utmost seriousness. “I’ll hit you and everything.”

“Or you could get in the cell,” John took hold of the chain connecting the boys, tugging them into the cell. “And think about why you didn’t get as far from California as you could after Stahl pulled you in.”

“Stahl’s not actually the reason Henriksen caught us,” Sam ducked his head in shame. “It was a con. Bela, the woman who stole the Colt, she conned us.”

“A woman is behind the capture of the notorious Winchester brothers,” John snorted, closing the cell door up tight. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“No, no. It wasn’t _that_ kind of con.” The younger Winchester blushed furiously at the implication. “She said she wanted to make a deal and give us the Colt.”

“And you bought that,” He always knew John Winchester was the brains of their little operation, but it was a little sad to see how the boys got by without him. “Why don’t you two just sit down and come up with a way to Houdini your way out of this.”

“Good idea.”

Sitting down, as it turned out, was about as confusing and time consuming to the Winchester boys as the concept of getting out of dodge when the feds were on your ass was. They tripped over their shackles, pushed and shoved each other, nearly winding up on the floor more than once. It took far longer than it should have for them to realize they had to work together to maneuver around the chains and sit on the bench. Leave it to the Winchesters to complicate even the simplest task.

“Jesus.” John really wanted to ask how they managed to survive this long, but figured it’d be in poor taste.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Henriksen strutted in, a large grin on his face. “We’re gonna be out of your hair sooner than I thought. My boss is sending a chopper for me and the boys.”

“We don’t have a heli-pad.” It wasn’t exactly in the measly budget the county gave him to work with.

“Reidy and your deputies are clearing the parking lot.” Henriksen informed him before addressing his prisoners. “You know what I’m trying to decide, boys?”

“I don’t know. What?” Dean tilted his head curiously. “Whether Cialis will help with your little condition?”

“What to have for dinner tonight. Steak or lobster, what the hell, surf and turf.” Henriksen licked his lips, imagining the taste of the meal. “I got a lot to celebrate. I mean, after all, seeing you two in chains….”

“You kinky son of a bitch. We don’t swing that way.” Dean cackled, while Sam could only muster the bitchiest of eye rolls. “You know, I wouldn’t bust out the melted butter just yet. You couldn’t catch us at the bank, couldn’t keep us in that jail.”

“You’re right. I screwed up. I underestimated you.” Henriksen admitted with a sigh. “I didn’t count on you being that smart, but now I’m ready.”

“Yeah, ready to lose us again?” Dean continued to taunt the agent, despite the earlier warning.

“Ready like a court order to keep you in a super maximum prison till trial. Ready like isolation in a soundproof, windowless cell, so small that between you and me…is probably unconstitutional.” Henriksen tried, and succeeded to put the fear of god into the boys, who shared a worried glance. “How’s that for ready? Take a good look at Sam—you two will never see each other again.”

“You got the wrong guys.” Dean shook his head, his arrogant façade slipping.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You fight monsters.” Henriksen scoffed. “Sorry, Dean. The truth is, your daddy brainwashed you with all that devil talk, and no doubt touched you in a bad place—“

“That’s enough.” John pushed his way between Henriksen and the cell, blocking the agent’s view of the brothers. “You won, Henriksen. They’re behind bars. What you’re doing now, it’s useless.”

“I’m talking to my prisoners, Sheriff.” Henriksen claimed defensively. “I’m sure you talk to yours before they’re released or transferred to county lock-up.”

“I arrest criminals. I interrogate them with their lawyers present.” He did not posture by intimidating or berating them once they were in custody, it served no purpose. “I do not abuse them, physically or verbally, and neither will you while you’re in my station.”

“I wasn’t abusing anybody.”

“This is a big case for you, right?” John would assume it was for the amount of energy the man seemed to have put into finding the boys. “You don’t want to screw it up _again_. You are gonna want to do everything by the book to avoid some technicality that could put a dent in your case. I suggest you let these kids stew here until that chopper arrives. Don’t give them anything they can use against you.”

“He starting to remind you of anybody?” Sam murmured lowly to his brother.

“His son.” Dean snickered in a sorry excuse for a whisper. “Guess we know who Stiles gets it from.”

“You know his son?” Henriksen questioned, peering at the Winchesters over John’s shoulder.

“Goddamn it, Dean.” John covered his face with his hands.

“Uh, no.” Dean denied, laughing nervously. “No. Nope.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause you just said he was acting like his son. Stiles, was it? Implying you know them both rather well.” Henriksen deduced, narrowing his suspicious eyes at John. “Sheriff Stilinski, I asked you once and I’ll ask you again: do you know these boys?”

There weren’t a lot of ways John could play this, not when he’d already been untruthful. He could stand by his original lie, stating he had only ever seen the boys in wanted posters until Henriksen had brought them into the station. Continuing on with the lie left him open to someone finding out the truth and calling him out on it. He could always be honest about knowing the Winchesters for years, but that would lead Henriksen to believe he had been harboring two of the most dangerous fugitives in the country. Then there was option three, admit nothing, deny nothing.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to my lawyer before I say anything to you.” It was the smart play, even if it sounded like an admittance of guilt.

“Right. I’ll get you that lawyer just as soon as I can. You can wait with the Winchesters for the time being, since you’re such good friends.” Henriksen took the keys off John’s belt and unlocked the cell door. “Oh, and I’m going to need your service weapon, back-up pistol, and your badge.”

“Yep.”

* * *

 

Beacon Hills High School was a little different from Charming High, where Jax had gone. It wasn’t just the sports thing, where lacrosse was number one over baseball or football, Jax couldn’t care less about sports. It was the kids and their over-priced cars—honestly, what dipshit teenager needed to drive a Porsche to school? It was ridiculous.

Then there was the class thing, none of the little bastards ever seemed to go to class. Bells had rung several times, yet kids were still chatting idly by their lockers and fucking around by their douche-mobiles. No one was rushing off like their asses were on fire to make it to class on time and avoid a late slip, not even Jax’s own brother.

Stiles was darting back and forth between the school building and a small sitting area in the courtyard, that Jax did not have a clear visual of. He wasn’t sure what the hell the kid was really doing, but there was determinations in his movement, he was obviously on some kind of mission. Jax eventually sent Juice over to get him, in fear that he’d drop dead from over-exerting himself if someone didn’t stop him and make him catch his breath.

“Are you two seriously stalking me?” Stiles groused, lumbering over to the truck they’d burrowed from John, Juice trailing a few steps behind him. “While I’m at school?”

“It took Juice grabbing you for you to notice we were even here, that’s reason enough for us to be here.” Jax chided his baby brother. “You’re distracted, you need us to watch your back.”

“One of us keeps an eye on the Argents, the other looks out for the lizard.” Juice elaborated on their ‘stalker’ roles. “So you can focus on class without working about being attacked by a hunter or reptile.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.” Stiles said with a grimace. “But it’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, we’re not going anywhere, so deal with it.” Jax wasn’t about to leave his little brother alone, surrounded by enemies. “You wanna tell me why you’ve been running all over hell?”

“Scott’s boss thinks the Argents have this book called a bestiary-- _bes·ti·ar·y_ not bestiality. They are two entirely different things. Get your minds out of the gutter.” From the level of exasperation in Stiles voice, it was clear it was not the first time he had made that distinction today. “It’s a book, like John Winchesters journal almost, but it’s more of an encyclopedia of monsters. We thought if we could get our hands on it, we could find out what the lizard thing really is.”

“We?” Jax did not like the sound of that. “Who is we?”

“Me, Scott, and Allison.” Stiles confessed meekly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Scott convinced Allison that it’s best if we all work together, despite our dads being at odds.”

“You mean, despite her dad threatening your goddamn life.” That seemed like a pretty good fucking reason for them to stay as far away from each other as possible. “None of this explains all your running around.”

“Scott and Allison aren’t allowed to see each other, so I’m playing go-between.” Stiles shrugged his shoulders. “We’re working under the assumption that Gerard won’t find it suspicious if I am talking to Allison. It’s not my plan. I suggested drop phones. I was out-voted.”

“You’re an idiot.” Jax rarely got to say that to his brother without sounding sarcastic. “Stay away from the Argent girl. We’ve got our own hunters, they will figure out what the lizard is.”

“Our hunters, have about ten other things on their plate.” Stiles retorted coolly. “I know they’ll try, but other things will always take precedence for them. Working with Allison to find her grandfathers bestiary may be the quickest way to find out what that thing is and how to stop it.”

“I don’t like it.” It was too risky for Jax to get on board with.

“You can’t stop me, you know.” Stiles countered easily. ”Unless you both plan to follow me to all of my classes, and to my lacrosse game tonight.”

“You have a game tonight?” Jax hadn’t accounted for watching his brother sit on a bench all evening when planning his day. “Can’t you skip it?”

“I wish, but I missed enough games when I was sick.” The teenager frowned. “Extracurricular activities look good on college applications. I can’t get kicked off the team now.”

“You and me are gonna talk about college later.” Jax had a few choice words about his brother’s college prospects.

“He won’t be going to college if he doesn’t go to class.” An old man with white hair declared as he stalked over from the courtyard. “Get to class, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Of course, Principal _Argent_.” Stiles took extra care to stress the name for Jax and Juice’s benefit. “I was just talking to my brother and our friend.”

“Well, your brother and friend need to leave.” Argent’s eyes snagged on their kuttes. “I don’t know what the former principal’s policies were, but I do not allow gang members on school grounds.”

“We’re a club, not a gang.” Somehow, Jax didn’t think the principal was open-minded enough to understand the difference. “I’m not leaving my little brother here unprotected.”

“I assure you, Stiles is perfectly safe.” The geriatric lied through his teeth.

“Bullshit.” Jax stepped forward, ready to go toe-to-toe with the head of the family that seemed keen on threatening his, but Juice held him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Stiles still has to go to school here,” Juice whispered into his ear. “Let’s not start anything he’ll have to deal with.”

“Fine.” Jax ceded to the younger man’s point, backing down just this once. “We’ll be across the street.”

“Just go hang out with Bobby or something.” Stiles urged them. “I’ll be okay here, I promise. I’ll call if I need you.”

“Fine.” He didn’t like it, but he’d do it. “I’ll pick you up after your game.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

 

Meeting John at the station for lunch to discuss Dean should have been a simple task, unfortunately the deputy posted at the front desk was intent on making things difficult.

“Look, sweetheart, I’m just here to speak with Sheriff Stilinski,” Christ, it wasn’t as if she’d decided on a whim to show up at the police station to start shit. “We have a lunch date.”

“I understand that, ma’am, but I cannot let you back there.” Deputy Hansen held firm in her position. “Sheriff Stilinski is currently unavailable.”

“Then I’ll just wait in his office.” She had cleared her entire schedule to have this conversation, she wasn’t leaving until she and John had it.

“He won’t be returning to his office anytime soon.” The deputy relayed disconcertingly. “I don’t know if he will be returning to his office.”

“What hell is that supposed to mean?” Gemma got the feeling the deputy meant it in an ‘ever again’ sort of way. “Where is he?”

“I can’t give out that kind of information.”

“John and I are practically married, okay?” Gemma was fully prepared to stand by that lie to the end of the line, if need be. “We have a son together and everything. Stiles. You know Stiles, right?”

“I know Stiles.” Deputy Hansen confirmed as she leant over the receptions desk to speak in a hushed tone. “There’s a federal agent in from out of town. He arrested Sheriff Stilinski and threw him in a cell with two fugitives. He took his badge and everything.”

“Jesus.” That was just fucking perfect. “I need to see him.”

“I can’t let you back there.” The deputy was done being helpful, it seemed. “I’m under orders not to let anyone back there until the Winchesters are on a helicopter to supermax.”

“I don’t give a shit what your orders are.” Gemma had never let orders stand in her way and she wasn’t about to start now.

Apparently, Deputy Hansen took her duties very seriously, because as soon as Gemma started for the hall that led to the holding area, the deputy grabbed her by the arm to stop her. Gemma’s fight or flight instincts took over from there. She pivoted on her feet, balled her hand into a fist, and slammed it into Hansen’s jaw, a hazard of those instinct being stuck perpetually on _fight_. She didn’t regret it, though, not when she knew that punch would land her exactly where she wanted to be.

She was neither surprised nor disappointed when Deputy Hansen responded by shoving her face-first into the nearest wall and securing handcuffs around her wrists. The deputy was even kind enough to read her her rights as she took her back to the holding cells, where John and both Winchester boys were waiting in their shared cell.

“Who is this now?” A dark skinned man in a nice suit asked from the chair placed strategically across from the cell. “I told you _no one_ comes back here, Deputy Hansen.”

“I’m sorry, Agent Henriksen, but she’s Sheriff Stilinski’s wife. She had to see him so badly she slugged me to get to him.” Hansen rubbed the sore spot on her jaw, while John choked on air from the cell. “She assaulted a police officer. Did you want me to just let her go?”

“I suppose not, it is a pretty serious charge.” Henriksen cocked his head to the side as he scrutinized her. “Sheriff Stilinski’s wife, huh? You’re quite the pair. He aides and abets criminals and you assault police officers.”

“Just wait until your meet our son.” She had no doubt Stiles would show up at the station the minute he learned his daddy was behind bars. “You mind putting me in a cell with my husband? I promise we’ll keep our hands to ourselves.”

“I don’t have a problem with that. Go ahead, Deputy Hansen.”

The fed unlocked the cell, allowing Hansen to walk her in, as if she couldn’t make it ten feet all on her own. Gemma’s time in metal bracelets was, thankfully, short lived, the deputy took them off before the cell door was shut and locked once more.

“If you wanted to help, you’ve just called a lawyer.” John remarked impassively, clasping his hands in front of him. “You didn’t have to join us.”

“I didn’t want you to get lonely.” And she was well aware that Sam and Dean weren’t always the best company. “How’d you end up on the wrong side of a holding cell, Johnny?”

“Dean and his big mouth.” John cast a scornful glare to the younger man sitting on the other side of the cell.

“That’ll do it.” She chortled and took an open seat on the bench beside her pseudo-husband.

“Sheriff, for what it’s worth, I am sorry you ended up in here with us.” Dean apologized sincerely. “That was my bad.”

“You basically told Henriksen I knew you.” John said, the throbbing vein in his neck perfectly accenting his aggravation. “He thinks I’ve been helping you evade arrest.”

“Well, I mean, you kind of have been.” Dean tittered, trying to pass it off as some big joke.

“You know, I don’t like to use the ‘Stiles is my kid‘ card anymore than he likes to use the ‘my dad’s a sheriff’ card,” John’s eyes gleamed as he leveled a threat at the Winchesters. “But I fully intend to play it when I get out of here.”

“That sounds really harsh.” Sam noted, wilting in his chair.

“That’s the point.”

* * *

 

Gemma and John had taken to ignoring them and talking amongst each other, which was fine, Dean didn’t care. He was perfectly fine sitting in silence and eavesdropping on their conversation, shit, Sam was doing it too. He and his brother were equal parts enthralled and horrified by the pair’s interaction.

It was one thing for John and Gem to be sitting close to each other, it was a small bench, after all. It was the touching that was weird for Dean to see. There was a brush of Gemma’s hand across John’s thigh, a caress of John’s fingertips over Gemma’s cheek. It was a hell of lot more than Dean and Sam were used to seeing from the two of them. Then there was the other thing….

“Are they…flirting?” Sam asked timidly. “I think they’re flirting.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” It wasn’t odd, necessarily, John and Gemma did share a child, so there was obviously an attraction there, but it to see them expressing that extraction was a little like watching your parents have sex. “If Gemma starts making lewd comments about putting Stilinski in handcuffs, I will confess to whatever Henriksen wants if it gets me out of this cell and into an interrogation room.”

“Not if I get to him first.”

“Oh, so you two are ready to talk?” Henriksen inquired, clamoring back into the holding cell area. “We’ll get to that in a second. For now, Mr. Stilinski, you have a visitor.”

“It’s _Sheriff_ Stilinski,” John corrected tautly. “I thought we weren’t allowed to have visitors until the Winchesters were gone.”

“Well, this one has a badge, so I figured it would be okay.” Henriksen waved in the newcomer. “Chief Unser.”

“Oh, Christ, Wayne.” Gemma snapped, displeased by the other man’s presence. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You two are on a first name basis?” Henriksen motioned between Wayne and Gemma. “Am I gonna end up throwing you in a cell along with them, Chief Unser?”

“He’s probably the only one of us who actually deserves to be here.” John muttered as the whir of helicopter blades roared overhead. “I don’t have anything to say to him, you can show him out.”

“Stahl is gonna be contacting you about an official interview with Stiles,” Unser raised his voice to be heard over the noise of the chopper. “Just thought I’d let you know. You weren’t answering your phone, guess now I know why.”

“Stahl is not going anywhere near my kid. After the long chat I had with the ATF, the only thing she’s getting is a formal reprimand from her bosses boss.” John dismissed any ideas of Stahl doing anything with his child, officially or not. “This is a waste of a trip for you. Go home, Unser. You lower the credibility of my office the longer you’re in it.”

“Goddamn.” Dean howled, practically bouncing in his seat.

“Well, it sounds like your ride is here.” Henriksen acknowledged boastfully, already patting himself on the back for a job well done. “Chief Unser, you can come with me. After I get Director Groves situated, you can tell me what the ATF wants with Mr. Stilinski’s boy.”

“Great.” John hung his head as Henriksen and Unser made their way back to the bullpen. “If there was anyone Wayne would actively try to put in jail, it would be my kid, even if he’s gotta make shit up to do it.”

“Oh, stop it.” Gemma elbowed Stilinski’s ribcage. “He won’t tell the fed anything.”

“What’s your deal with Unser?” Sam questioned curiously. “Stiles is the same way with him.”

“He’s a bad guy passing himself off as a good guy.” John replied callously, clenching his hands into fists. “What’s worse is he actually believes he’s a good guy. He’s a delusional fool.”

“Don’t mince words, Johnny,” Gemma chided the sheriff. “You hate Wayne because he took over as chief when your daddy died. You would have hated anyone who took that post, because they weren’t your daddy.”

“If that’s what makes you feel better about me hating your BFF,” John drawled blithely, rolling his shoulders. “Then keep believing that.”

“Sam and Dean Winchester,” A middle-aged, dark haired man joined them in the holding area. “I’m Deputy Director Steven Groves. This is a pleasure.”

“Well, glad one of us feels that way.” Dean retorted, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you two to come out of the woodwork,” Groves sidled right up to the bars. “Now that you’re finally here, I just can’t wait any longer.”

Without warning, the Deputy Director pulled his service weapon, aimed it into the cell, and fired without hesitation. The bullet pierced Dean’s left shoulder, knocking him back against the wall. Sam and John both jumped to their feet, grabbing Groves through the bars, and knocking the gun from his hands, while Gemma rushed to Dean’s side.

“You’re okay,” She took off her leather jacket and pressed it against his wound. “You’ll be all right.”

“He’s a demon,” Sam grunted, gripping Groves by the collar and chanting. “Exorcizamus te, immundus spiritus—“

“Sorry, I’ve gotta cut this short.” Grove spit out. “It’s gonna be a long night, fellas.”

Groves opened his mouth and screamed, black smoke pouring out of him. The demon smoke disappeared out of the air vent on the ceiling, while Groves’ body fell to the floor with a sickening thud.

“What in the hell is going on here?” Henriksen yelled as he and Reidy ran in, immediately going on the attack when they saw their boss’s body on the floor. “Get your hands up!”

“Put the gun down!” Reidy ordered, pointing his pistol at Sam’s chest. “Put it down!”

“The gun is already on the ground!” Sam shouted, kicking the weapon through the cell bars. “We never had it. We didn’t shoot him.”

“He shot me!” Dean shrieked, climbing to his feet. “Check the body. We didn’t do anything. Dude’s probably been dead for months.”

“Vic, there’s no bullet wound.” Reidy confirmed as he inspected the body.

“What did you do to him?” Henriksen gesticulated between the four of them with his gun, unsure of who to put his focus on. “Talk or I shoot.”

“We didn’t do anything.” Dean repeated, because obviously the agent hadn’t heard him the first fucking time. “You wouldn’t believe us.”

“He was possessed.” John didn’t bother to pull a story off the top of his head, instead choosing to give the agents the truth. “It sounds insane, I know, but it’s the truth.”

“Possessed, huh? Everyone in this damn town’s drinking the crazy Kool-Aid.” Henriksen holstered his weapon, taking their lack of mental competence to mean they weren’t as dangerous as he had originally thought. “Reidy, tell the guys to fire up the chopper. We’re taking everyone out of here.”

“Bill,” Reidy spoke into his walkie-talkie, receiving only static in return. “Bill, are you there?”

“Go check it out, Reidy.” Henriksen instructed his partner. “Make sure we’re ready to go.”

“Yes, sir.” Henriksen nodded, accepting the task, and jogging out of the room.

“Henriksen, you need to listen to me,” John insisted, urgency heavy in his tone. “I understand that it’s hard to believe, but there are things in this world that are unexplainable. Demon, ghosts, werewolves. Hell, a Godzilla-wannabe killed a mechanic in front of my son this morning.”

“Give it up, Sheriff.” Dean moaned through the pain in his shoulder. “He’s never gonna believe you, not without proof.”

“Dean, I’m sure you were read your rights when you were arrested. One of those rights was the right to remain silent, why don’t you give that a shot, huh?” John lashed out, letting his temper get the better of him. “Unless you have something useful to add, you should probably keep your mouth shut.”

 _“They’re dead.”_ Reidy’s voice filtered over Henriksen’s radio. _“I think they’re all dead.”_

Any questions Henriksen or anyone else had for Reidy about what he was seeing were lost to the loud ‘boom’ that reverberated through the entire building. The walls shook and the floor quaked beneath their feet. There wasn’t even a moment to process or contemplate what could have happened before Reidy’s screams echoed over the walkie-talkie.

“Reidy?” Henriksen’s tried in vain to contact his partner over the radio. “Reidy, come in. What the hell was that? Reidy?”

“Henriksen,” John took advantage of the fed’s distraction, reaching through the bars to clutch a handful of his sleeve, yanking him roughly against the side of the cell. “Four of my deputies were out there. Let me out of this cage, so I can check on them.”

“You are not a sheriff right now, Stilinski, you’re a perp. You’re in no position to be giving orders.” Henriksen ripped his arm from the other man’s grip. “Your men were out there, so was my partner, but nobody is going out there.”

“Phones and internet are down.” Unser announced, shuffling in to join them in the already crammed area. “The deputy at the desk, Hansen, she’s trying to get through on the landline, but there’s not even a dial tone. Cellphones aren’t working either.”

“Well, someone had to see whatever that explosion was.” Gemma said matter-of-factly. “The fire department or someone will show up.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. Everyone’s at the high school for the lacrosse game.” John sighed, knocking his forehead against the bars. “Think Texas football or baseball in Charming.”

“The Tower farm burned to the ground during the state championship game in ’84.” Gemma recalled fondly. “You could see the smoke from the baseball field, but not one person left to go put it out. The fire chief’s son was a third-baseman, if I remember correctly.”

“I hate small towns.” Henriksen growled as the lights began to flicker then shut off entirely. “Great, we lost power.”

“You have to let us out of here,” John schooled his voice to sound calm, lest his agitation work against them in making Henriksen agreeable. “Something blew up outside, the helicopter probably. Your partner said everyone was dead. Dean’s been shot, he needs a doctor.”

“We go out there, we’re asking to die too. Don’t you get it?” Henriksen snarled, his nostrils flaring. “Someone is out there and they’re coming in here. This is a siege.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, ‘cause you’re not.” John asserted rationally. “But if they do get in, you’re gonna need help.”

“From you guys? You’re all in cahoots with one another. You set this whole thing up.” Henriksen’s fear was quickly morphing into paranoia. “So what’s the plan? Kill everyone in the station, bust Sam and Dean out?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Given what had transpired so far, Dean was confident it was demons killing people off to get to them. It was a hit, not a prison break.

“I’m talking about your psycho friends,” Henriksen sneered at the Winchester brothers. “I’m talking about a bloodbath.”

“Okay, I promise you whoever’s out there is not here to help us.” Dean’s friends would do some questionable things to save him and Sam, but blowing up helicopters and trying to overtake a police station wasn’t really their style. “Why don’t you let us out of here so we can help save your ass?”

“Look, you gotta believe us.” Sam begged the agent, going as far as to bring out the puppy dog eyes. “Everyone here is in terrible danger.”

“From what? You gonna say demons? Don’t you say demons.” Henriksen reached for his holster, as if he might pull his gun. “Let me tell you something, you should be more scared of me.”

With the thinly veiled threat out in the open, Henriksen turned on his heels and stomped out of the room. Dean almost wanted to issue his own warning to make Henriksen stay, knowing the agent would be safer in there trading barbs with them than anywhere else in the station.

“Unser,” John addressed the chief standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. “There’s a first aid kid in the bottom drawer of my desk. It has a combination lock on it. Go on and get it. We need to patch Dean up. The last thing we need is for him to bleed out or get an infection.”

“You keep a lock on your first aid kit?”

“I do when there are extras in there I don’t want my deputies questioning me about.” John divulged impatiently. “Everyone in Beacon Hills knows it’s not a normal town, that doesn’t mean they’re ready to accept it and everything it entails.”

“So there are supernatural-related extras in your kit.” Dean perked up. “Like what? Anything for demons?”

“There’s a flask of holy water and a rosary in case we need to make more.”

“We’ll need more.” Sam scanned their small space for a source of water they could bless, his eyes landing on the urinal in the corner of the cell. “That’ll do.”

“We might just make it out of here alive, folks.” The holy water didn’t change their odds much, but Dean was choosing to look on the bright side.

* * *

 

Stiles liked to think he was stealthy, that he could get in and out of a certain places undetected. He was plenty sneaky, that was a fact, he had to be when his dad was sheriff and his brother was a criminal. He wasn’t just blowing smoke up his own ass when he boasted about that particular skill set. He had actual experience to back it up.

It was that experience he was relying on at the lacrosse game when he wasn’t actually playing the game, but instead was on a mission to obtain the super-secret Argent bestiary. It went perfectly, you know, at first. He managed to ninja away from Coach Finstock and keep anyone from seeing Allison hand-off the set of keys she’d nabbed from her grandfather. It was when he was in Gerard’s office, conducting a thorough yet hasty search for the previously mentioned bestiary, that's is when it all went to shit.

“Hello, Stiles.” Erica’s sultry sweet voice floated through the doorway.

“Uh, hi,” He offered his classmate an innocent smile as he slammed shut the drawer he’d been rifling through. “Something I can help you with, Erica?”

“Derek wants to see you.” Oh, so she was her alphas secretary and/or mouthpiece, quite possibly his muscle. It was nice to see she’d found her place in the pack so quickly.

“I’m a little busy at the moment.” He sure as hell wasn’t going to jump to attention just because Derek requested his presence. “I’ll be sure to pencil him in when I get the chance.”

“Why do you always have to do things the hard way?” Erica huffed, gripping the helix of his right ear painfully between her fingers. “Let’s go, Stiles.”

“Ow! Ow!” Stiles shrieked as the girl used her death grip on him to jerk him toward the door. “Ow!”

Erica had no qualms when it came to manhandling him, she seemed to take great pleasure in it, in fact. She used her werewolf strength to drag him from Gerard’s office, force him down the hall, through several corridors, only releasing him when they made it to the schools indoor pool where her alpha was waiting with a basketball in his hands.

“Stiles,” Derek greeted him with a wide, fang-filled grin, and poorly concealed contempt.

“Derek,” Stiles rocked back and forth on his heels, already bored by whatever the hell this was going to be. “How’s the ass? Were one of your pups able to dig that bullet out?”

“What did you see at the mechanic’s garage?” The alpha asked, ignoring the inquiry about the injury he sustained the previous evening, courtesy of Stiles himself.

“Uh, several alarming EPA violations that I’m seriously considering reporting.” Who was he kidding, he’d already reported them in the form of a carefully worded yet still hostile email. “But you don’t care about that. Ask me nicely, like you should have in the first place, and I’ll tell you what you really want to know.”

“Stiles,” Derek gritted his teeth and let his claws puncture the basketball he held, deflating it. “ _Please_ , before I give in to the urge to rip your throat out, tell me what you saw.”

“There’s no need for dramatics, wolf-boy.”

“Stiles!”

“All right, the thing was pretty slick looking. Um, its skin was kind of patterned. Uh, I think I actually saw scales. The eyes were yellowish, slitted. It had a lot of teeth. Oh, and it had a tail.” After a nights rest, he was able to remember more details than he had when he was going over all of it with Dean not long after it happened. “You know, you have this look on your faces like you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

It was a look sheer terror, but it wasn’t directed at him or what he was saying, but at something over his shoulder. Stiles followed Derek and Erica’s line of sight behind him and up to the overhead balcony seats, where the creepy crawler was just waiting to be noticed. Stiles backed away instinctively, colliding with the panic-stricken wolves.

The lizard hissed, jumping from the guardrail to join them on the main floor. Derek crouched low in response, his features shifting to their wolf form, eyes blazing red, lips drew back in a vicious snarl. Lizard-man retaliated for the show of dominance by swiping a clawed hand at Erica’s legs, effortlessly tossing her against a wall, knocking her out cold.

“Run!” Derek hollered, turning his back on the enemy to shove a hand to Stiles chest to get him moving, a fateful error on his part.

The creature took the opportunity to whip its tail at the wolf, slashing the nape of his neck, before it disappeared into the shadows once more.

“Derek, your neck.”

Derek’s hands reached his nape as the paralytic toxins began to set in, causing the wolf to sway on his feet, toppling precariously backward. Stiles caught him, looped Derek’s arm around his shoulders, supporting his weight to half-carry/half-drag him out of harm’s way.

“Where is it?” Stiles tried to catch a glimpse of the creature as they maneuvered around the edge of the pool. “Can you see it?”

“No, just hurry.” Derek mumbled sluggishly. “C-Call someone. My dad, Dean, anyone.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles tore the cellphone from his pocket, struggling to dial and lug Derek along.

The wolf was definitely feeling the effects of the toxin, his body becoming more and more like deadweight with every step. Still, Derek shuffled along with him the best he could, at least until they hit a wet spot and lost their combined footing. Stiles fumbled, his phone falling from his grasp and hitting the cement hard enough to crack the screen. Derek was next to go, slipping on the rim of the pool and tumbling in, cursing as he hit the water.

Stiles had a split second to decide whether to pick up his phone, try to call for help, and let Derek sink to bottom of the pool and drown, or go in after him and pray someone found them. He opted for the latter, realizing he didn’t actually want the alpha to die. He dove into the water, wrapping an arm around Derek’s torso and towing him to the surface.

“Where did it go?” If Stiles was going to be trapped in a pool for the foreseeable future, he wanted to be damn certain where the thing trying to kill them was. “Do you see it?”

“No.” Derek spluttered, spitting water out of his mouth.

“Okay, maybe it took off.” Stiles mused optimistically, only for the goddamn thing to hiss from the rafters, signaling it was very much still present.

“Maybe not.” The wolf gasped and shook the wet hair from his face. “You forgot to mention it can paralyze people.”

“Yeah, my bad.”

* * *

 

Hanging out at the loft with Bobby was about as boring as watching paint dry. There was no TV or radio, just books, lots and lots of books. It might as well have been a goddamn library, except none of the books were placed neatly on shelves, they were stacked haphazardly on the floor in what Jax liked to call Singer-order.

There were separate piles for everything strewn across the apartment. In the kitchen, he could find four stacks of books having to do with demons deals. Beneath the windows, by the desk, was every book Bobby could find about werewolf bites and rejections. And in the little nook behind the spiral staircase were piles upon piles of different lore referencing lizard-like creatures, and that’s where Jax and Juice were.

Jax had sat himself on the bottom step to skim through the stack of books closest to him. Juice had chosen to sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by the piles of literature, and seemed to be searching through about five different books at once. So far, none of them had found anything remotely close to what Stiles had described the previous night.

“Fuck, this is ridiculous.” Jax rubbed his eyes. “I must have gone through at least half a dozen of these stupid books. I still got nothing.”

“Research takes time, son.” Bobby murmured, flipping through the pages of a book on the kitchen table. “Hey, you heard from Dean today?”

“He was gone when I got up this morning.” Son of a bitch didn’t even wake him up to say goodbye or leave a note. “Maybe he and Sam got a lead on that Bela chick and left to check it out.”

“One could only hope.” The hunter clucked. “What time do you have to pick up Stiles?”

“No idea. He said he’d call when the game was over.” Jax and Juice were playing the waiting game since they were banned from campus. “So what’s the deal with Gerard Argent? Is he a psycho like his daughter or a pussy like his son?”

“Let’s just say Kate took after him, while Chris took after his mama.” Bobby commented bitingly. “Don’t write Chris off, though. He’s just as unhinged as the rest of them, just hides it better.”

“Us antagonizing Gerard at the school, and Sheriff Stilinski challenging Chris, probably isn’t helping defuse the brewing war.” Juice noted, not lifting his gaze from the book on his lap. “Sheriff Stilinski’s just doing his job, and protecting Stiles, but we really did not have to instigate shit with Gerard. I mean, Stiles is the one who has to deal with the day-to-day consequences when we go back to Charming.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jax hadn’t thought things through on that front, he’d reacted in the moment. “You know, you’ve known Stilinski over eight years now, you can call him John.”

“No. No, I can’t. He’s told me I can, but I can’t.” Juice shook his head vigorously. “Calling him Sheriff is like a sign of respect, and I’ve got to show him respect, because I get fucking weird around him. I starting saying the stupidest shit.”

“Oh, I know. I was there that time he said ‘hi’ to you, and rather than say ‘hey’ back, you blurted out that you stole a _Power Man_ action figure from your cousin Hernan when you were little.” Jax had to give John credit for taking the random confession in stride, just rolling with it. “Then there was the cocaine snorting thing this morning.”

“Exactly. A few minutes alone with the guy and I’m spouting off crimes I committed as a kid.” Juice dropped his head in his hands, groaning into them. “I don’t even know why.”

“It’s called _can’t-shut-the-fuck-up-itis_ ,” The way Jax saw it, Juice was lucky he’d only confessed to shit he did as a kid, anything more recent and they’d have a real problem. “You need to get that shit under control.”

“I’m trying.”

“Boys,” Bobby snapped his fingers. “Less talking, more researching the lizard thing. We need to know what it is, the sooner the better.”

“It’s a kanima.” Juice said dully, his face pinched in confusion. “I found it in a book, like an hour after we got here.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought I had.” Juice admitted sheepishly, slumping his shoulders. “Maybe I only said it in my head, not out loud.”

“You idiot.” Jax leaned far enough off the stairs to whack Juice upside the head with a book. “If you already know what it is, why are you still doing research?”

“I want to know its weaknesses, so we know how to incapacitate it.”

“Oh,” Yeah, no, that was a good idea. “You’re thinking ahead.”

“Yeah, you should try it sometime.”

* * *

 

Being locked in a cell with the Winchesters for the better part of the day was like a test of John’s patience. It took all he had not to make snide comments as the boys argued on their side of the cell. He was the well-mannered adult here, he had to act like it.

“Boys,” He had to raise his voice to cut through their near constant bickering. “I appreciate that you’re trying to think of a way to fight the demons, but maybe we should come up with a way to convince Agent Henriksen to let us out of this cell, first.”

“You tried that already, it didn’t work.” Dean quickly shut down that idea. “You wanna hit your head against a brick wall, repeatedly, go ahead. It’ll get you further than trying to reason with Henriksen.”

“I’m about to beat _your_ head against the damn wall,” Gemma threatened the older Winchester brother. “You two aren’t even coming up with a plan, you’re just bitching at each other. Knock it the fuck off and get your shit together, or we’re just going to hand you over to the demons who obviously want you, in exchange for our freedom. Got it?”

“Uh, y-yeah, yes,” Sam stammered, sliding down further on the bench in an effort to appear smaller.

“Look, there’s gotta be some way out of this cell,” Dean wrapped his fingers around the bars and pulled, as if he could rip it off the hinges with brute force. “Some kind of failsafe in case of an emergency.”

“Yeah, it’s called a key.” John wondered again how Dean had survived as long as he had if his logic was always that fallible. “This is a jail. Cells are meant to keep people in, not give them a secret way out. You two are the prison break aficionados, experience that can only be gained from being caught so many times—“

“You know, I’m really fucking sick your attitude today.” Dean snarled at him and tugged at his restraints, rattling the chain attached to his cuffs.

“Yeah, ditto.” John tipped his head back against the cell wall, closing his eyes and wishing to be anywhere but where he was.

“Hey, I get that we’re all tense, I mean, we’re like sitting ducks in here,” Sam tried to be the voice of reason. “But being at each other’s throats isn’t going to help anything.”

“Agreed,” Gemma concurred, raking her fingers through her hair. “How many of those things do you think are out there?”

“I don’t know. They could be possessing anyone.” Sam tapped his foot anxiously against the floor. “Anyone could just walk in….”

“It’s kind of wild, right? I mean, it’s like they’re coming for us. They’ve never done that before.” Dean grinned proudly. “It’s like we got a contract on us. Think it’s because we’re so awesome? I think it’s ‘cause we’re so awesome.”

“I think I wanna smack you.” John muttered under his breath. “Awesome? Jesus.”

“How pissed do you think Jax and Stiles would be if we just handed Sam and Dean over to the demons?” Gemma leaned into his space to whisper. “Theoretically of course, if things get too hairy.”

“ _Theoretically_ , I don’t think either of them would care one way or another about Sam. They’d both be upset about losing Dean. Jax is the one we’d really have to worry about.” Of course, the boys losing Dean wasn’t exactly theoretical in the grand scheme of things. “That’s gonna be a reality for them soon enough anyway, with Dean’s deal coming due.”

“What deal?”

“Sam was killed during a hunt a while back. Dean made a deal to bring him back, his soul for Sam’s life. He got a year to get his affairs in order.” The one-year mark was drawing closer. “You came up here to find out what was going on with Dean, now you know.”

“My god,” She took in a shaky breath. “That’s insane.”

“They’re trying to find a way to get him out of it,” John tried to reassure her. “It’s not going well, but there’s still time.”

“Gemma,” Wayne snuck into the holding area, keys jangling in his hands. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“Where did you get those?” John pointed to the keys, the same ones Henriksen had swiped from him earlier.

“I pick-pocketed them off Agent Henriksen while he was preoccupied.” Unser replied, unlocking the cell door and pulling it open. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Uh…you know what? We’re, um, we’re comfy right here.” Dean took a half-step in front of Gemma, preventing her from going anywhere. “But thank you.”

Fully understanding that _anyone_ could be possessed by a demon, including Unser, John thought it best to put as much distance between them and Wayne as he could within the confines of the cell. He took Gemma’s hand and stood from the bench, ushering her to the far corner of the cell. She didn’t protest the move, only gripped his hand tighter when Henriksen joined them in the cage as well.

“What do you think you’re doing Chief Unser?”

“We’re not just gonna sit around here and wait to die.” Unser stated clearly. “We’re gonna make a run for it.”

“We’re not going anywhere.” In a flash, the agent brandished his weapon and fired, putting a hole through Unser’s skull.

“Wayne!” Gemma cried out as her friend’s body dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Her horrified shout drew Henriksen’s attention, and the barrel of his gun.

John acted swiftly, wrapping his arms around Gemma, pushing her further into the corner, and covering her body with his, shielding her from the bullet being fired. He grunted as the lead pierced the meat of his bicep, but refused to break his position and leave Gemma unprotected.

The Winchesters body-slammed the fed at full-force. Dean grappled with that man, disarming him of his pistol, taking it for himself. Sam wrestled Henriksen to the holy water urinal, dunking his head into it.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” Sam held the agents head firmly in the toilet as he began the exorcism. “Omnis satanic potestas-, omnis incursion—“

“Hurry up!” Dean yelled impatiently when Sam pulled Henriksen’s head out of the water, as if to double-check that he was actually possessed.

The flesh of the agent’s face burned and his eyes were coated in black film, prompting the younger Winchester to shove his head back into the toilet. Sam continued lifting Henriksen’s head out of the water throughout the ritual, allowing the vessel to breathe so they didn’t kill Henriksen in the process.

“It’s too late.” The demon possessing the agent cackled darkly. “I already called them. They’re already coming.”

Sam pushed Henriksen’s head into the holy water for a final time, holding him firmly as he struggled against it. Henriksen knocked Sam back as he reared up from the urinal and screamed. Black smoke poured from his mouth, just as it had done with Groves, and escaped from through the air vents, dumping the body to the floor.

“Is the son of a bitch dead?” Gemma stepped around John to get a better look at the agent.

Henriksen answered her with a cough, his eyes popping open as he came back to himself. John linked his hand with Gemma’s, pulling her back to safety in case Henriksen wasn’t fully Henriksen. Dean was in the same safety-first frame of mind, training the stolen gun on Henriksen as he sat up and regained his bearings.

“I, um,” Henriksen wiped beads of sweat from his forehead, glancing up at Dean uncertainly. “I shot the sheriff.”

“But you didn’t shoot the deputy.” Dean deadpanned, not missing a beat

“No, dipshit,” Gemma sneered at the hunter, hitting John’s injured arm with the palm of her hand. “He actually shot the sheriff.”

“Ow.” John flinched, gripping his injured arm.

“Oh. Oh, shit.” Fear flashed over Dean’s features. “Okay. Everyone be cool. We’ll figure this out.”

“I wasn’t….” Henriksen shook his head, trying to find some clarity. “I wasn’t myself.”

“You were possessed.” Dean bluntly informed him. “We probably should have left you that way. You’re gonna wish we had when his son gets a hold of you.”

“Stiles will understand, Dean.” Sam remarked sensibly.

“Stiles stabbed you at Christmas for being a prick. Yesterday, he shot Derek in the ass for getting bite-happy.” Dean rattled off a short list of Stiles most recent offenses. “What part of his personality suggests he’s gonna let this go?”

“Stiles is not going to hurt anyone.” John came to his son’s defense, sort of. “Well, he’s not going to hurt Agent Henriksen.”

“How do you plan to stop him?”

“Because, Dean,” John grinned manically as he took the agent’s gun from Dean’s pliant hands. “I’m gonna tell him you shot me.”

“Oh, that’s not nice.” Dean shuddered, eyes flickering to the pistol. “And my fingerprints are all over the damn weapon.”

“Yep.”

“Son of a bitch.”

* * *

 

Thankfully, once Henriksen had first-hand experience being possessed, he was a lot more willing to let them out of their cell. Of course, despite the change in scenery, they were still trapped like rats. Dean hated being trapped, it gave him a distinct disadvantage against the enemy.

“Stop moving.” Gemma ordered, dabbing a piece of gauze over Dean’s wound. “It’ll only hurt more.”

“All I need is a bandage, Gem.” He could stitch himself up later, when all this was over. “Please.”

“Fine.”

Dean was surprised by how well SAMCRO’s matriarch was holding up, given everything that was happening and what she had witnessed. Sure, she was shaken, that was to be expected after seeing her friend get murdered, but she was still keeping it together and helping out where she could. Her strength was admirable.

“You need some help with that?” Henriksen asked John, gesturing to his injury. “I mean, I’m sort of responsible….”

“I got it, thanks.” John gave the fed the cold shoulder, intentionally or not, and focused on his task.

The sheriff had removed the bullet with a pair of tweezers, and was using a needle and thread from the first aid kit to close the wound. John had an unwavering concentration as he moved the needle with expert precision through his skin, never showing a hint of pain.

“You know, you’re still going to the hospital when we get out of this, Johnny.” Gemma said in a tone that left no room for arguments. “That’s gonna be looked at properly, by someone with actual medical training.”

“Yeah, yeah.” John brushed off the woman’s concern. “Just what I need, another hospital bill.”

“Stop getting hurt and you wouldn’t have so many hospital bills.” Gemma reasoned simply, smacking a bandage on Dean’s wound. “There you go, Dean. That should do for now.”

“Thanks, Gem.” He rolled down his sleeve and pulled back on his jacket, hiding his wound from sight. “Sam, are the Devil’s traps drawn and the salt lines laid?”

“Deputy Hansen and I took care of it.” Sam nodded to the one deputy on shift that had managed to survive. “It’s not going to be enough.”

“I know.” Salt lines and Devil’s traps were merely a first line of defense, only good for buying them time. “We need more. Where’s my car?”

“The impound lot outback.” Henriksen jerked a thumb toward the south side of the property. “Why?”

“We need supplies.” The Impala’s trunk was full of them. “All right. You guys sit tight. Sam, take point at the door. I’m gonna get what we need from the car.”

Dean clicked the safety off his borrowed gun and he made his way out of the back of the station. He took quick stock of the area, checking for anything or anyone out or the ordinary. Once he confirmed there were no possessed civilians, or you know, a lizard-man running around, he felt safe enough to jog across the lot to his car.

He remained on alert as he popped the Impala’s trunk, not willing to let his guard down for a second. He took the dufflebag stuffed in the corner and filled it to the brim with every weapon and charm he thought could be useful. It was only when he zipped the bag and closed the car back up, that he noticed the street lamps flickering around him.

He gazed up at the sky, finding demonic smoke infused with blue lightening descending upon the station. He reckoned he only had about thirty seconds until they blocked his route to salvation. He hitched the duffle over his shoulder and made a break for it.

He bolted across the impound lot as fast as he could, slamming into the station’s back entrance. The door opened from the inside with his brother’s large hand reaching out to grab him by the collar of his jacket and yank him inside. He caught a passing glance of the smoke successfully encasing the building before Sam forced the door closed.

“Are you okay?” Sam questioned as he helped steady Dean on his feet.

“Define ‘okay’.” Dean grumbled, shaking off his brother’s hold and making his way back to the bullpen.

“Did you get what you went out there for?” Gemma asked, folding her arms over her chest, watching as he set the dufflebag on an open desk.

“Yep.” Dean unzipped the bag and began handing out talismans he’d stored away. “Everybody needs to put these on. They’ll keep you from being possessed.”

“What about you and Sam?” John inquired, accepting one of the charmed necklaces for himself.

“We’re good.” Dean and his brother pulled down the collars of their shirts, revealing the anti-possession tattoos on their chests.

“Hey, you guys need to see this.” Deputy Hansen waved them to the front windows, where a crowd of people with jet black eyes had gathered outside the station. “That’s Jenna Rubner.”

“That’s not Jenna anymore.” No one outside those doors was themselves anymore. “Everybody get back to work. We need to be prepared in case they try to breach the perimeter.”

“Be prepared with shotgun shells full rock salt. Fighting off monsters with condiments.” Henriksen scoffed, but continued filling shells with the ingredient. “So, it turns out demons are real.”

“FYI, ghosts are real too. So are werewolves, vampires, changelings, and evil clowns that eat people.” Dean kept the list simple, he didn’t want to scare Henriksen anymore than he already was. “If it makes you feel better, Bigfoot’s a hoax.”

“It doesn’t.” The fed chuckled. “How many demons?”

“Total? Not a clue.” If there were a set amount, Dean’s job would be a lot easier. “A lot.”

“You know what my job is?”

“You mean besides locking up the good guys?” Dean snarked. “I have no idea.”

“My job is boring, it’s frustrating. You work three years for one break, and then maybe you can save…a few people. Maybe.” Henriksen confided in him about the downsides of his profession. “I’ve been busting my ass for fifteen years to nail a handful of guys and all the while, there’s something off in the corner so big. So yeah, sign me up for that big, frosty mug of wasting my damn life.”

“You didn’t know.” Dean couldn’t hold the man’s lack of supernatural knowledge against him.

“Now I do.” Henriksen acknowledged thoughtfully. “What’s out there? Can you guys beat it? Can you win?”

“Honestly, I think the world’s gonna end bloody.” Really, how else could it possibly end with everything that was trying to destroy it? “But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight. We do have choices. I choose to go down swinging.”

* * *

 

If Stiles calculations were correct, he and Derek had been in the water for two hours and counting. It was two hours of holding up Derek’s paralyzed body in eight feet of water while a lizard-like creature, armed with multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth, stalked them from the edge of the pool. On the upside, it didn’t seem like lizard-man could swim, he hadn’t tried to jump in after them yet. Downside, they were stuck in the water with no way out, and it was taking its toll.

“I don’t think I can do this much longer.” The longer Stiles was forced to hold his own weight along with Derek’s, the faster his energy depleted. “I’ve gotta do something.”

The only really had two options, neither of which Stiles could see Derek getting on board with. One would be to continue treading water until Stiles was completely drained, and he and Derek inevitably drowned. Option two would be to try to send out an SOS using the phone Stiles had dropped at the rim of the pool, which would only be plausible if he let Derek go. Both plans had their risks, but only one gave them a real shot at survival.

“No, no, no.” The alpha caught on to his plan as soon as his line of sight found the cellphone on the ground by the pool. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Would you just trust me this once?” It was tall order, considering he’d shot Derek the previous day.

“No.” That was fair.

“I’m the one keeping you alive, okay,” Stiles wasn’t trying to imply Derek owed him or anything, he just wanted to make a point. “Have you noticed that?”

“When the paralysis wears off, who is gonna be able to fight that thing, you or me?” Derek asked condescendingly. “You don’t trust me, I don’t trust you. You need me to survive, which is why you are not letting me go.”

Stiles made the executive decision to try to their asses, whether the alpha liked it or not. He loosened his grip on Derek’s torso, letting him slip from his arms. The wolf sunk below the surface as Stiles swam as fast as he could to the side of the pool. He snatched his phone off the rim, receiving a loud hiss from the kanima for the thievery that had him failing back, scrambling to the center of the pool.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He skimmed his wet fingers over the cracked screen of the phone, pressing dial on the first number in his recent call list.

 _“Yeah?”_ The preoccupied voice of his friend replaced the mechanic ringing.

“Scott!” Not the person Stiles would have intentionally called in a crisis, but he’d take what he could get.

 _“I can’t talk right now.”_ Scott said in a rush, the line going dead immediately afterward.

Stiles angrily ripped the phone from his ear, knowing he didn’t have time to make another call he chose to dump the device into the pool. He took a deep breath and dove down in the water, swimming to the bottom where Derek’s body was resting, curling his arms around the wolf, and dragging him to the surface.

“T-Tell me you got someone.” Derek spluttered, struggling to catch his breath.

“Sorry.” He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but it wasn’t his fault Scott had better things to do. “He hung up on me before I could even tell him what was going on.”

“Who?”

“Um, Scott.” He was gonna plead insanity on that one, or just blame his phone, which, to be honest, was the real culprit here. “He was at the top of my call log. Did you want me to scroll through my contacts to find the right person while you drowned?”

“We’re both going to drown now.” The alpha grumbled. “Unless Erica wakes up and can hold off the lizard.”

“Erica?” Stiles hadn’t thought about her since she was knocked unconscious hours ago. ”Where is she?”

Stiles whipped his head around to where she’d landed, finding it vacant. It was likely the blonde had skedaddled as soon as she had woken up.

“She’s not here.” Stiles wasn’t sure whether to be worried or pissed off about that. “She’s gone.”

“He’s not.” Derek whispered, his tone dripping with trepidation.

“What? Who?” He questioned, following the alpha’s gaze.

Standing just outside the boy’s locker room was a sandy haired man with pale blue eyes. There was an aura of familiarity about him, it brought about a nagging feeling of nostalgia and recognition in Stiles mind. The stranger’s presence felt almost like a memory that’d been repressed and was trying to break through the surface.

“Hello, Nathaniel.” The English-accented man smiled warmly. “Or have you chosen to go by Mieczysław? I would think that name would be tarnished for you. Perhaps, it’s just Stiles now.”

** [Stilinski House - April 2000] **

_Stiles lay splayed out on the rug on his bedroom floor, his head pillowed on the stomach of the German shepherd sleeping soundly beside him. He stared up at the peel-and-stick glowing stars his dad had put on the ceiling, humming the song his mom made up to teach him about the constellations._

_“You could see the real stars if you looked out your bedroom window.” A friendly voice broke through the dead silence of the night._

_Stiles tipped his head back to see the man standing in front of the window, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the curtains, the shadows of his wings stretching over the walls._

_“Can’t look out the window to see anything when you’re blockin’ it.” Stiles sassed, shifting his eyes back to the fake stars on the ceilings._

_“Of course, how silly of me.” The man stepped away from the window, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor next to him. “Why are you up so late, Mieczysław Nathaniel?”_

_“My brain won’t shut up and let me sleep.” He drummed his fingers over his forehead. “And don’t call me Mie—Miec—Miecz—that name!”_

_“Why? It’s your name now, the one your new mother gave you.” His friend pointed out. “You don’t like it?”_

_“I like it. I just can’t say it.” Stiles huffed, annoyed at his inability to properly verbalize his new name. “Mommy calls me Mischief. I guess that’s what it sounds like when I try to say it.”_

_“Mischief.” The man tested the name on his tongue. “That suits you. What has your father been calling you since they altered your name? Nathaniel still?”_

_“Only when I’m in trouble, so like, never.” He was a good boy, he didn’t get into trouble. “He and everyone else calls me Stiles. Daddy said lots of people in our family were called Stiles. I like it better than my new name.”_

_“Stiles is good. It certainly won’t be the last name you hold, but it will do you well for now.” His friend said cryptically. “And you can pronounce it, that’s a plus.”_

_“I can’t say your name neither.” Stiles reminded the man with a cheeky grin. “That’s why I call you B.”_

_“Yes, it is.”_

** [-----] **

“B,” Stiles put a name to the face that hadn’t aged a day in well over thirteen years. “He looks like someone—something I used to know, that I called B.”

“Good memory.” The man, B, presumably, praised him. “You seem to have gotten yourself in a spot of trouble, Mieczysław Nathaniel.”

“I told you not to call me that.” At least he thought he had, but that would mean the guy with wings from all those years ago was real and not some figment of his childhood imagination.

“Why isn’t the lizard attacking him?” Derek asked, eyes pinned on the creature whose focus remained on them, despite the easier target standing just a few feet away.

“I’ve got a theory,” A batshit insane theory that Derek would never believe, hell, he didn’t even believe it and it was his theory. “Uh, he’s not real.”

“He looks pretty fucking real to me.” The wolf snapped. “He’s right there.”

“No, he’s not, not really.” Stiles would buy he and Derek having a shared hallucination long before he admitted B was truly there. “He can’t be. It’s not possible. I asked John Winchester if things like this were real, and he said no.”

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve been able to reveal myself to you, Stiles. You’re not a child anymore, after all. You’re too old to accept a simple answer to what I am, and it’s not time for you to know the truth. However, I couldn’t let you die because of your poor choice in friends.” B removed a cellphone from his pocket. “It’s identical to yours, has all your contacts in it. I do hope you’ll call the right person this time.”

“Why don’t you call someone for us?” It seemed like the simplest solution to this mess, in Stiles opinion. “Or help us yourself.”

“In time, you’ll see that I am not going to coddle you. I will not ride in to rescue you when you’re in danger. You’ll learn nothing that way.” B traipsed past the lizard to the edge of the pool with ease, setting the cellphone down on the rim. “You’ve survived this long, not because someone has always been there to save you, but because you’ve had the tools, knowledge, and will to save yourself. That is how you will continue to survive.”

“If you’re so against helping me survive, why are you leaving the phone?” It seemed rather contradictory.

“Don’t twist my words. I am against sweeping in to rescue you. Offering you the necessary tools to assist in your survival, well, that’s another thing entirely.” B nudged the phone closed to the pool. “Mr. Hale, do yourself a favor, do not panic when Stiles lets you go. He will not let you drown. It is past time you two started trusting each other.”

“I’ll start trusting him if he calls someone who will actually help us,” Derek clenched his jaw, biting back a snarl. “Anyone but Scott.”

“Ah yes, Scott McCall,” B spit the name out, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Would you take advice on that front? Some words of wisdom? I’d like to protect you from a future of deceit and betrayal, if I can.”

“Uh,” That sounded both ominous and intriguing. “Sure.”  

“One day soon, a former emissary will make Scott believe he is stronger and morally superior to the rest of you. They will believe this lie wholeheartedly, and they will try to convince you of it as well.” B started, issuing a warning of things to come. “Do not mistake their conviction for truth.”

“Right, okay.” So it was like a ‘chosen one’ kind of thing, how cliché. “You wouldn’t be telling us this if that lie didn’t get people hurt. Does it make Scott turn on us?”

“To turn on you, he’d have to be on your side, and he is not. He will expect your total confidence in his every choice while second-guessing all of yours. He will demand your instant forgiveness when he screws up, but he will never show you the same courtesy.” B rallied on. “He’s not to be relied on or trusted. His first instinct will always be to choose the enemy over his pack. The pack will pay the price for his disloyalty.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell us that,” Derek growled, noting that B wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know. “He’s proved it by continuing to stand by the Argents even after everything they’ve done.”

“He’s not a savior or a hero, not to either of you.” B’s face tightened as he reached the end of his impassioned speech. “Scott McCall is a false prophet.”

With that declaration, B disappeared, simply vanishing into thin air.

“Who was that?” Derek asked, his eyes fixed on the spot where B had been standing. “ _What_ was that?”

“I don’t know. Guardian angel?” Honestly, Stiles still wasn’t ready to believe B wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him or some kind of hallucination, even when physical proof of his existence was sitting on the rim of the pool. “He did leave us a phone.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Derek relented with a sigh. “All right. Let me go. Call anyone who is not Scott.”

“Absolutely.” He had learned his lesson there, and fully intended to call the one person, besides his father, that he knew would come for him when called. “Take a deep breath. One. Two. Three.”

* * *

 

Devil’s traps? Check. Salt lines? Check. Shot-gun shells full of rock salt? Check. Amulets and/or tattoos to prevent possession? Check. Cries and agonizing screams originating from outside the station?  Check, check. A blonde woman with black eyes sauntering in unhindered through the back door? Uh…check.

“Demon.” Henriksen jumped to his feet, aiming a rifle at the woman. “How do we kill it?”

“We don’t.” Sam lowered the agent’s gun with a hand to the barrel of it. “Her name’s Ruby. She’s here to help us.”

“How did you get in here?” Dean cast a suspicious scowl to the demon.

“Some idiot forgot to fix the broken salt line at the door.” Ruby nodded to the door behind her.

"Oh.” That idiot was Dean when he’d come back in after retrieving supplies from the Impala, but fuck if he would admit that to her. “Right. An idiot. Nice going, Sam.”

“Are you gonna let me out?” Ruby tapped her foot to the Devil’s trap she was stuck in.

“No.” Stilinski said firmly, leaving the ‘no ifs, ands, and buts’ silent but clear all the same. “My station, my rules. The demon stays in the trap. I don’t care if she’s ‘friendly’ or not.”

“I second that.” Gemma cocked the shotgun in her hands. “Anyone tries to free her, they get an ass full of rock salt.”

“She stays put.” Given that Dean didn’t trust Ruby, he had no problem leaving her in the trap. “We’re all in agreement.”

“I guess chivalry really is dead.” Ruby pouted, trying to appear innocent and unassuming. “Does anyone have a breath mint? Some guts splattered in my mouth while I was killing my way in here.”

“How many demons are out there?” Dean asked as he trudged around the trap to fix the salt line.

“Thirty at least.” Ruby estimated. “That’s so far.”

“Oh good. Thirty. Thirty hit men all gunning for us.” It didn’t exactly have Dean quaking in his boots, but it did make him very nervous. “Who sent them?”

“’Who sent them.’” Ruby repeated the question back to him, but it was Sam she was staring down. “You didn’t tell Dean? Oh, I’m surprised.”

“Tell me what?” Dean tried not to be shocked by his little brother keeping things from him again. It was par for the course with them. “Sammy?”

“There’s a big new up and comer. Real pied piper. Her name is Lilith.” Ruby easily offered up the information she had shared with Sam at some point. “She really, really wants Sam’s intestines on a stick. She sees him as competition.”

“You knew about this?” It was a rhetorical question, but Dean hoped Sam at least had a good reason for keeping him in the dark. “Well, gee, Sam, is there anything else I should know?”

“How about the two of you talk about this later?” Ruby suggested, clapping her hands together. “We’ll need the Colt if you want to get out of this. Where is it?”

“It got stolen.” Sam confessed, dropping his gaze to floor, apparently finding the tile far more interesting than the demon in front of him.

“I’m sorry. I must have blood in my ear. I thought I just heard you say you were stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of your thick, clumsy, idiotic hands.” Ruby looked about ready to pull out her hair, or Sam’s, when she realized that’s exactly what she was being told. “Fantastic. That’s just peachy. There’s only one other way I know to get you out of here alive, but we can’t even do that.”

“What’s the other way?” Dean was open to any possibilities, no matter how farfetched.

“It’s a spell.” Ruby acknowledged. “It would vaporize every demon in a one-mile radius. Myself included.”

“Yeah, boohoo.” Dean wouldn’t be crying any tears for her. “What do we need to do?”

“You can’t do anything.” She scrutinized each of them individually, appearing dissatisfied by what she found. “None of you can. This spell is very specific. It calls for a person of virtue.”

“Hey, I got virtue.” Dean was super virtuous. He had virtue coming out of his ears.

“I think she means in a biblical sense.” Gemma clarified, looking at him like he was a special brand of stupid. “As in virginity.”

“Virginity? We need a virgin? Nobody’s a virgin.” There was not a single virgin in Dean’s midst. If they wanted to cast the spell, they would have to bring someone else in. “I only know one virgin, Stiles. Hey, what if we—“

“Dean, if you make some dumb joke about finding a way to get Stiles in here, so you can use him as your sacrificial virgin, I will throw you to the demons myself.” John cautioned him against making humorless quips at Stiles expense. “I am tired of hunters threatening my son, even jokingly.”

“Okay, relax, I won’t say it.” Dean valued his life enough to keep that joke to himself. “All right, Ruby, we’re short a virgin. What’s the alternative?”

“The Colt, but you don’t have that either.” Ruby remarked bitterly. “If you had a virgin, I would kill myself to help you win. I’m not gonna stay and watch you lose. Let me out of this trap so I can leave.”

“We won’t lose.” Dean said confidently as he leaned down to scratch a line through the paint of the trap and break the salt line. “Go ahead and leave.”

“You will lose, and I’m disappointed, because I tried, I really did, but clearly I bet on the wrong horse.” Ruby shook her head and drew her knife, pushing out the back door, leaving them to fend for themselves.

“Okay, Dean, you think we can win without Ruby’s help.” Sam gazed disconcertingly at the door, as if willing Ruby to change her mind and come back in. “What’s the plan?”

“Open the doors, let them all in, and we fight.”

* * *

 

The lacrosse game was well and over by the time Jax, Juice, and Bobby arrived at the school. The parking lot near the gym was vacant, save for two cars, Derek’s Camaro, and a clunker that had to belong to the pile of shit sniffing around the Camaro.

“Scott!” Jax barked at the teenager. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying to catch Stiles and Derek’s scents.” Scott replied dumbly, as if what he was doing should have been obvious. “Stiles called me a while ago, but I couldn’t talk. I need him to give me Gerard’s keys, it has a USB drive on the ring that Allison and I think contains the bestiary.”

“That’s why you’re here?” Juice scowled. “To get the bestiary?”

“Well, yeah.” Scott shrugged, confusion marring his features. “Why else would I be here?”

“Why, indeed,” Bobby snorted. “Jax, we need to get going. There’s no telling how much longer the boys can stay up in that water.”

“Yeah.” Jax agreed, viciously grabbing Scott by the scruff of his neck. “Show us where the pool is and you can have your little bestiary.”

“Uh, okay.” Scott stumbled as Jax shoved him forward several feet. “Sure.”

“You know if it were my brother in that pool,” Juice spoke quietly to Jax. “I would beat Scott with a lead pipe. Not bad enough to kill him, but enough to send a message.”

“Oh, I’ve got a plan for this little bastard.” There was no way in hell Jax would allow Scott to just walk away tonight.

Jax let thoughts of what he wanted to do to Scott follow him into the school. The beta wolf led them down a darkened hallway, to the barricaded gym doors. A large metal file cabinet had been placed strategically in front of them as a blockade, probably by the little girl sitting on the floor beside it.

“Erica,” Scott crouched down next to her. “What happened?”

“The lizard thing, it attacked us, knocked me out.” Erica trembled, touching the tender spot on her head. “I woke up, it was focused on Derek and Stiles, so I took my chance and ran, but I couldn’t leave my alpha.”

“You did the right thing,” Scott assured her with a soft smile. “You’re okay, that’s all that matters.”

“Go outside.” Jax ordered the girl who had shown the extent of her usefulness by doing nothing. “We’ll get your alpha.”

“We gotta get this cabinet out of the way first.” Juice acknowledged, leveling the motionless girl with an expectant look. “ _Move.”_

“Hey, she’s scared.” Scott glared disapproving as he took Erica’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Leave her alone.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure Stiles and Derek are scared too, seeing as they’re the ones trapped with a kanima that’s armed with sharp claws and paralytic toxins.” Juice shot back, his brown eyes blazing with rage. “She’s done enough damage by adding one more hoop for us to jump through. She can go, unless she has to wait for her alpha to give her a ride home.”

“I’ll be outside.” Erica muttered, turning on her heels and retreating down the hall.

“You didn’t have to be so mean to her.” Scott chastised the Son. “Just ‘cause she’s not like you guys.”

“Jax, can I punch him?” Juice balled his hands into fists, ready for a good old-fashioned brawl. “Please. There’s only so much stupid I can handle in such a short amount of time.”

“ _We_ are not touching him.” Jax had something specific in mind for Scott, and the beauty of it was it would keep his and Juice’s hands clean. “Don’t worry, he’ll get his very soon.”

“What are you talking about?” Scott painted on his go-to stupid puppy expression. “What did I do?”

“Hey!” Bobby stomped his foot. “Less bitching, more moving the cabinet so we can get to the kids before they drown.”

“Yeah, just a second.” Jax extended his arm over the cabinet to slap his palm in a quick repetition on the door. “Stiles! Stiles, can you hear me? Stiles!”

 _“J-Jax!”_ His little brother’s strained voice shouted from the other side. _“Jax, help! I-I can’t….I can’t…Help!”_

“Stiles, hold on! I’m coming!”

Jax and Juice positioned themselves at one of the cabinet, hoping their combined strength would equal that of the she-wolf who had put the barricade in place. They put their energy, adrenaline, and force into a long, hard, shove, pushing against the cabinet until gave way, sliding across the linoleum with ease.

“Thank fuck.” Jax exhaled harshly, wrenching the newly freed doors open, and stepping into the gym.

They had half a second to confirm the kids were still afloat before the kanima entered their field of vision, lurking on the opposite side of the pool. It stalked toward them on all fours, slitted eyes boring into them, claws clacking on the ground, its tail whipping back and forth in a threatening manner.

“Oh, that’s—no. T-That thing is just gross.” Juice cringed as he and Jax inched closer to the pool. “Uh-uh.”

“Jax!” Stiles cried out, bobbing precariously in the water as he struggled to stay above the surface. “I-I can’t….”

“Stiles, buddy, you gotta come in closer.” Short of jumping in to join them, which Jax did not think the kanima would allow, there was nothing he could do while the kids were in the middle of the pool. “Come on. You can do it.”

The depth of Stiles exhaustion was visible in his sluggish movements as he swam toward the edge, towing Derek with him. The wolf’s added weight threatened to drag Stiles under with every stroke, but he didn’t let it deter him. Seeing Stiles waning strength had Jax and Juice quickening their own pace to get to the boys, only to have the kanima dart out in front of them, startling them to abrupt halt.

“I-I can’t,” Stiles gurgled, his mouth filing with water as he drew closer to the rim of the pool. “I can’t stay up. I need something to hold on to.”

Stiles stretched his arm out to grip the handle of the diving board, his wet fingertips barely skimming the edge of it. The teenager swore as the reality of being unable to reach far enough to grasp the bar set in. He used what was left of his energy to push Derek upward, letting himself slip beneath the water. Derek only had a moment to take a breath before he too sank below the surface.

“Go!” Bobby lunged in front of Jax, putting himself in the kanima’s path, wielding his pistol. “Get the boys! I’ll cover you!”

“Me too.” Scott volunteered, shifting into his werewolf form. “I’ll help them. You guys get them out.”

Gunfire and growls echoed through the gym as Jax and Juice made a mad dash for the pool. Derek was closest to the surface, and it took both of them to heave him out of the water and dump him on the cement floor. With Stiles near the bottom, Jax had to trust Juice to keep him from toppling into the pool to when he made a grab for his brother. He sunk both arms into the water, latching on to Stiles jacket and pulling him out of the pool.

Jax was gentler with Stiles than he’d been with Derek, carefully lying him down, and rolling him on his side. He gave the kid a few rough claps to the back until he got with the program and began coughing up the pool water that had invaded his lungs.

“There you go,” Jax continued to pat Stiles on the back. “You’re okay now.”

“We need to get out of here.” Juice exclaimed as they helped the boys to their feet. “Bobby’s not having any luck with the kanima, it’s too fast, and Scott’s just running it in circles.”

“Yeah, here.” Jax handed his lethargic brother off to the other Son, maneuvering his arm around Juice’s shoulders. “You take him—“

“I can’t get them both out on my own.” Juice protested, shifting his stance in an effort to hold up Stiles and keep a steadying hand on Derek.

“I can walk.” Derek took a tentative step away from them to show the paralytic had worn off in the thirty-seconds he’d been out of the pool. “I don’t need help.”

“You’re getting it anyway.” And that was only because Jax didn’t need a witness for when he put his plan for beta-boy in motion. “Bobby, fall back. Help Juice get Stiles and Derek out of here.”

“You sure?” Bobby asked, his attention never straying from the kanima.

“Absolutely.” Jax un-holstered his gun, purely for show, he had no intention of using it. “Scott and I got this.”

“Jax,” Stiles tugged weakly against Juice’s hold. “No, come on.”

“It’s okay, buddy. I’ll be right there.” Jax reassured his little brother. “Go on. It’s okay, I promise.”

“Come on.” Juice urged the younger man. “He’ll be okay.”

Derek took the lead, guiding the others through the doors his claws on full display, like he were expecting something else to jump out at them. Juice trudged behind the alpha, pulling a resistant Stiles along. Bobby brought up the rear, keeping a watchful eye on the kanima, just in case it managed to make it past Jax and Scott.

Jax bided his time until he was sure his brother was gone, not just out of the pool enclosure, but out of the school, before he felt comfortable holstering his gun and turning his focus on the werewolf versus kanima quarrel. He wouldn’t call it a battle, no, the show of acrobatics was more posturing than it was a fight. It was a bit like watching a game of chase or cat and mouse, where both thought they were the predator. Jax was going to take a lot of pleasure in making Scott the prey.

Jax didn’t have to wait long to make his move, as soon as Scott darted around the corner, the kanima hot on his heels, Jax nabbed him. He grabbed a handful of the Scott’s shirt, jerking him off balance, and wrapping his other hand around Scott’s throat, letting his blunt nails dig into his skin.

The kanima, to his surprise, did not immediately go in for an attack when his playmate was forced into a standstill. It stopped a few feet away, cocking its head to the side, and lashing its tail in the air. If Jax didn’t know any better, he’d say it wanted to see how this played out to.

“W-What are you doing?” Scott stuttered, shocked by the sudden assault.

“ _If_ you survive this, I want you to think twice about just hanging up the phone the next time someone calls you for help.”

He shoved Scott face-first to the ground at the kanima’s feet, leaving him there like an offering. The werewolf’s frightened squawks were like music to his ears that put a gratifying little hitch in his step and carried him out of the gym. He didn’t care about what happened next, whether the ensuing fight was slow and brutal or quick and easy, whether Scott lived or died. So long as it was painful and bloody, Jax was happy.

* * *

 

“You have to let me go back in,” Stiles insisted, looking over his shoulder at the school as Juice led him across the parking lot against his will. “Or you go back in. Someone has to go back in. Let me go back in!”

“Stiles, your body is exhausted, you can barely stand up on your own,” Juice pointed out, leaning him against the side of Derek’s Camaro. “ _You_ cannot go back in.”

“Someone has to.” If Stiles had the energy, he would have dug in his heels and fought tooth and nail against leaving his brother in the gym with the lizard in the first place. “He’s in there with that thing, all by himself.”

“No, he’s with…Scott.”

“Yeah, like I said, he’s in there by himself.” Stiles didn’t exactly have a lot of faith in Scott at the moment. “He needs _me_.”

“Jax has a plan.” Juice’s words might have quelled Stiles fears if any of Jax’s plans had worked out _ever_. “Don’t worry.”

“I always worry.” Stiles shivered, wrapping his arms around his shivering body when the brisk night breeze hit his soaked clothing.

“Put these on,” Juice took off his kutte and hoodie, draping them around Stiles shoulders, and helping him slip his arms into the sleeves. “You need dry clothes.”

“My regular clothes are in my gym locker.” He might have been nothing more than a benchwarmer on the lacrosse team, but he still had to wear the proper uniform to games. “You said I couldn’t go back in.”

“Derek, you sure your okay, son?” Bobby questioned concernedly, checking his son over. “The kanima got you with its venom, didn’t it?”

“It wore off.” Derek alleged, rolling his shoulders to work out any residual stiffness. “I’m good.”

“You’re fine.” Stiles gaped at the alpha. “You are _fine_.”

“Uh,” Derek glanced at the teenager uncertainly. “Thanks?”

“Not fine as in good looking. Fine as in, in control of your body.” Stiles clarified, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “When we were in the pool, even in those lose fast second, you couldn’t move anything below your neck. But as soon as Jax and Juice pulled us out, you were in control of your limbs again.”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded slowly. “It’d been over two hours. The paralysis had to wear off sometime. The timing is just a coincidence.”

“No, because the same thing happened last night at the garage. I couldn’t move a muscle. It only took my dad and his deputies five minutes to get there, my dad came over to check on me, and suddenly I was fine.” It couldn’t be just a coincidence. “Maybe the venom contaminates the air somehow, and someone new coming in from the outside brings particles from the fresh air, and it kick starts the body. Then again, you didn’t regain your mobility when our rescue party burst in, so maybe physical contact or close proximity is necessary.”

“Well, if we capture the kanima, we can test your theory.” Bobby remarked flippantly. “Don’t know what good it will do. Traditionally, it doesn’t play with its food. It paralyzes, then kills almost immediately afterward. Doesn’t leave much time for a rescue.”

“Hey, he’s just trying to find some logic to hold onto in a _traditionally_ illogical situation,” Juice snapped at the hunter. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

“Stiles!” Jax called out as he appeared outside the school entrance, bounding toward them. “You know, all this supernatural shit is making it very difficult for me to do the big brother/protector thing.”

“Yeah, but you’re still really good at it.” Stiles broke away from Juice to meet his big brother half way, throwing his arms around him as soon as he was able. “Are you okay?”

“Of course, buddy, I’m fine.” Jax claimed, looping his arms around him. “You, though, are going to the hospital, and no amount of kicking and screaming will get you out of it.”

“For what?” A hospital visit was a waste of money when there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. “I’m not hurt.”

“You were in that pool way too long, and you swallowed a lot of pool water.” Jax’s justifications for the completely unnecessary visit were feeble at best. “All that chlorine can’t be good for you.”

“If it was really harmful, I doubt they’d put it in pools.” Not that he was an expert on the subject, he just really did not want to go to the hospital for a second time in twenty-four hours. “I’m okay, Jax, I promise. I’m just tired. You need to relax.”

“I’ll relax when a doctor tells me you don’t have chlorine poisoning or some shit.”

* * *

 

John retrieved the remaining bag of rock salt from the storage room, tucking it under his good arm as he made his way back to the reception area, where last minute preparations for the impending battle were in full swing.

“Okay, the recordings done.” Sam held up a tape recorder. “Just need access to the stations PA system.”

“We don’t have a PA system.” John thought that would be obvious given the distinct lack of speakers around the office. “This is a small station, we never needed one. The best I can give you is a bullhorn.”

“You can’t attach a tape recorder to a bullhorn.” Dean complained, snatching the recorder out of his brother’s hand to wave it around. “How are we supposed to broadcast the exorcism through the station without it?”

“Maybe you should have asked if there was a PA system, before you hinged your entire plan on it.” John argued, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“I will use the bullhorn to do the exorcism.” Gemma decided, offering up an easy solution to the problem. “I’ll be outside anyway. Just leave one of the windows open, I’ll speak into the bullhorn through it.” 

“That should work.” John agreed, picked the bullhorn up off the receptions desk. “Like I said, it’s a small station, the horn should be more than loud enough.”

“All right. Well, let’s get to it.” Dean discarded the tape recorder on to the desk nearest to him. “Henriksen, take point in Stilinski’s office. Open the window for Gemma, but do not break the salt line on the sill.”

“Got it.” Henriksen accepted his duties, saluting Dean, and marching to the office to man his post.

“Deputy Hansen, you’re fine right there in the evidence locker. You can back Sam and me up in case any of them get past us. Sammy, you’re up here with me.” Dean assigned everyone to places he felt they’d be the most useful. “Gemma, Sheriff, you know where to be. Gemma, do not start the exorcism until all the demons are in here and that door is secure.”

“Yeah, darlin’, I’m not an idiot.” Gemma drawled, taking the bullhorn out of John’s hands. “Let’s just hope this works.”

“It’ll work.” Dean’s confidence was not as inspiring as he probably hoped it would be. “Now get it done.”

John and Gemma were mindful of the salt lines as they crossed over the threshold and crept quietly out the back door. Although that side of the property had remained void of demon presence since Ruby had left, they still kept an eye out for any stragglers that may have wandered over. They didn’t make it ten feet out the door before John realized that sneaking around the building without attracting the attention of the demons was going to be difficult with the incessant ‘click-clack’ of Gemma’s shoes on the pavement.

“Do you always have to wear high-heeled shoes?” The noisy footwear would definitely interfere with their plan not to draw suspicion to themselves. “The demons will hear us coming.”

“If I had known we were going to play ‘demons and hunters’ today, I would have worn sneakers.” Gemma groused, bending down to unzip and remove her boots. “Happy?”

“No.” John toed off his own shoes and nudged them over to her. “They’ll be big on you, but they’re better than nothing.”

“Always such a gentleman.” Gemma grinned approvingly, slipping on his shoes. “Almost makes up for the ‘condolences’ you gave me about Wayne earlier.”

“I apologized for that.” That was one slip of the tongue she probably would never forgive him for. “I am very sorry.”

“I know you are,” She sighed as they continued on their way to the east side of the station. “I’m not sure how I’m going to explain all this to Wayne’s wife. I can’t exactly tell her a possessed federal agent shot her husband.”

“It’s not up to you to say anything to her, Gemma.” It happened on John’s watch, in his town, it was his responsibility. “I’ll do the notification.”

“Thank you.” She said as they stopped outside the open window of his office. “Well, this is me.”

“You know, it really should be Deputy Hansen out here with you,” John had far more skills and experience in this particular area that would be better utilized inside. “I’m the sheriff, I should be in there protecting my station.”

“You’re hurt.”

“So is Dean,” It wasn’t holding the hunter back any, so John didn’t understand why he was being singled out and sidelined from the real fight.

“Look at it this way, Johnny, if this mass exorcism fails, they’re all stuck in there with the demons, while we’re out here, safe as we can get in this situation.” Gemma laid out the differences of their circumstances compared to everyone else’s. “The demons will pick off Hansen and Henriksen quickly, they won’t suffer. They’ll give Dean and Sam slow deaths, and that’ll give us plenty of time to jump in my car or one of your cruisers.”

“That’s a dark take on the bright side.”

“Hey, we’ve got kids to go home to. These guys,” Gemma rapped her knuckles against the brick exterior of the station. “They got jackshit. Let them risk their lives.”

“I can hear you.” Henriksen mentioned, sticking his head out of the office window. “I don’t appreciate your blasé attitude toward whether I and everyone else in here lives or dies.”

“You shot my husband and killed one of my oldest friends.” Gemma retorted sharply. “I don’t give a flying fuck how you feel about my attitude.”

“I’m not your husband.” John felt the need to remind her and instantly regretted that decision once he was on the receiving end of her withering glare. “You’re right, it’s not the time for clarifications. Sorry.”

“It’s not the time for any of this. We got more important things to do. Dean’s giving me the signal.” Henriksen acknowledged, raising his rifle. “They’re opening the doors. Sheriff, you should get into position.”

“Yeah, I’m going.”

John kept close to the side of the building as he made his way to the front of the station. He peered around the corner to the front doors, watching them swing open. The demons invaded the station in a large drove, tripping over each other in their haste to be the first to get to the Winchester boys.

“Go! Go! Go!” Dean’s yell was followed by a loud barrage of gunfire.

To prevent the demons from attacking from all sides, those doors served as the only point of entry. John waited for every last demon to rush through them and into the station before he jogged over and slammed the entrance doors closed, using his master key to lock them from the outside.

“Gemma, now!” He shouted out as he quickly laid a thick line of salt across the doorway, giving the demons no way out.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii,” Gemma’s voice reverberated through the bullhorn as she began the chant. “Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis, humiliare sub potenti manu dei….”

The demons pounded against the doors and windows, trying uselessly to get out. Gemma was well into the final portion of the exorcism when an explosion of light was expelled through the roof, and thick clouds of black smoke ascended into the night sky.

“Well, shit, that actually worked.”

* * *

 

Dean was going to be riding the high of _his_ successful plan for a while. The execution had been flawless, everything had gone off without a hitch – a rarity in his line of work. He was so goddamn proud of his own brilliance that he couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face as his troops gathered together in the sheriff’s office after a job well done.

“You all doubted me, but I was right, it worked.” Oh yes, he would gloat, he had earned that right. “Do you want your ‘I told you so’s’ now or later?”

“What do we do about them?” Henriksen ignored him in favor of asking after the twenty or so people who had survived being demonic vessels and were now milling about the station, unaware of how they had gotten there. “Do we tell them the truth or what?”

“There was a toxic leak nearby, causing disorientation and vivid hallucinations to those in the surrounding area. We brought those affected here for their own safety. They will be released after being seen by a medical professional.” The fabricated story slipped easily off John’s tongue. “This isn’t my fist time covering up a supernatural mess in Beacon Hills, guys.”

“What medical professional are you gonna get to back this story?” It was the only real problem Dean could find with the tale the sheriff wanted to spin. “The McCall kid’s mom? She’s a nurse, right?”

“I was thinking your friend Bobby, actually. He’s got more experience than any of us in dealing with things like this.” John said, glancing out at the crowd of people. “We should wait an hour or two, give these folks a chance to decompress.”

“It’s too fresh in their minds right now. Too real. We go out there and try to convince them it’s fake, they’ll push back, get angry, scared.” Henriksen reasoned, rubbing his chin. “Give it time to sink in and they’ll start trying to rationalize it, ‘cause it’s easier than believing demons are real.”

“Exactly.” John nodded. “They won’t want to believe it’s real, so we give them an alternative that makes sense.”

“You won’t be giving them anything, Johnny. You are going to the hospital.” Gemma put a pin in the sheriff’s plan. “So is Dean. You’ve both been shot, you need doctors. Sam is coming in case this demon bullshit isn’t over and tries to follow us to the hospital. Henriksen is going so he can explain to Stiles how a bullet ended up in your arm. He’ll be far more forgiving if you’re upfront about it, Henriksen.”

“And if he’s not, you’ll already be in the hospital.” Dean joked, slapping the agent on the back good-naturedly. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“That just leaves me to handle everyone here. I can do it. I can tell them what happened,” Deputy Hansen declared firmly, lifting her chin and standing tall in a show of her strength. “I can tell them the story. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“After we leave, I want you to get on the phone, call my cell, talk to my voicemail, speak loud enough for them to overhear. Say something about finding a number of violent, confused, belligerent folks on the street, after several calls from other concerned citizens.” John advised the deputy on how to pull off the cover-up. “Mention that the hospital was overrun with similar cases and could not accept more patients. Then in two hours, I will call you and you need to drop the words ‘toxic leak’ into the conversation.”

“Toxic leak,” Hansen repeated the phrase as a show of understanding. “I got it.”

“This is going to plant the seed of doubt in their minds. They’re going to get frustrated and demand answers.” John put the final touches on what would be the sheriff departments _official_ story. “You tell them it hasn’t been confirmed yet, so you really shouldn’t say, but you think they have the right to know that we think it was a chemical leak of some kind, and we are working very hard to find out what exactly happened. You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Good, we know what story Beacon Hills will spin. Now for the FBI,” Sam looked to Henriksen for answers. “What are you gonna tell your bosses?”

“The lease ridiculous lie I can come up with.” The agent muttered. “I’ll work off Stilinski’s story.”

“Yeah, it’ll be better if your stories match up.” Dean agreed and decided to go for broke and press his luck. “Not to pressure you or anything, but what are you planning to do about us? Sam and me?”

“I’m gonna kill you.” Henriksen stated clearly, a twisted smile spreading across his lips.

“Say what now?” Dean took a cautionary step back and to the left, placing himself behind Sheriff Stilinski who had a moral and professional obligation to protect him no matter how much they’d annoyed each other all day. “You’re gonna what?”

“Sam and Dean Winchester were in the chopper when it caught on fire. Nothing left. Can’t even identify them with dental records.” Henriksen blessed them with death, which was as close to leniency or a full pardon as they could ever hope to get. “Rest in peace, guys.”

* * *

 

John had hoped the unnecessary trip to the ER would be an in-and-out kind of thing. His suture work on his wound was more than sufficient, he just needed a doctor to confirm that he was fine, and send him on his way. Unfortunately, the hospital staff had other ideas, like insisting on a full work up for both he and Dean.

Neither of them were happy being poked and prodded. They whined when they were instructed to remove their shirts and put on gowns, which was, apparently, the easiest way to get a grown man to act like a child. Nevertheless, they did as they were told, trading their shirts for unflattering hospital garb, and sitting complacently on gurneys in the triage unit while waiting to be seen by a doctor.

The waiting game didn’t suit any of them, not when they were still on edge from the day’s events. Gemma had reverted into her caregiver role, fussing over he and Dean, making sure their pillows were fluffed and blankets were pulled up high. Sam kept superstitiously inspecting Dean’s injury, as if a complication would arise the moment he took his eyes off it. Henriksen was off in the corner, chattering on his phone to his superiors about what had gone down. It was probably difficult for the agent to hear anything his counterparts were saying when some asshole was berating a nurse in the hall.

 _“I don’t want goddamn discharge forms,”_ A voice that sounded suspiciously like Jax bellowed from behind the privacy curtain. “ _I want a doctor to look at my brother, now!”_

 _“Sir, the doctor has examined your brother twice,”_ The nurse said in a calm, even tone, like he knew raising his voice an octave would only further provoke his patients relative. _“She has other patients to attend to, she cannot ignore them to examine your brother a third time. I’m sorry.”_

 _“Yeah, whatever.”_ The man grumbled petulantly. _“Guess I’ll need those discharge forms after all.”_

 _“If your brother has any problems, you should bring him back in.”_ The nurse recommended over the rustle of papers being exchanged. _“Have a good night, Mr. Teller.”_

“Oh, what the hell?“ Gemma ripped back the flimsy curtain separating them from _Mr. Teller._ “Jackson.”

“Mom?” Jax’s eyes widened at their presence. “What the fuck are you guys doing here? Why are Dean and John—“

“They were shot. It’s not serious, they’re fine.” Gemma dismissed any concern for their injuries with a flick of her wrist. “Why were you bitching out a nurse? What happened to your brother?”

“The kanima –the lizard thing—attacked him and Derek at the school pool. Derek was paralyzed, fell in the water, Stiles went in after him. He had to hold Derek up for like two hours until Juice, Bobby, and I got there.” Jax explained, raking his fingers through his hair. “They were under the water when we found them. Derek’s fine, he’s with Bobby. I brought Stiles here ‘cause he swallowed a lot of pool water, and…I was just worried. Doctor said he’s fine, though.”

“Where is he?” John would be the one to decide if his son was fine or not. “Where is he right now?”

“He’s here." Jax reached back and pulled open the curtain of the triage unit across the hall, allowing them to see the two boys curled up together on the gurney.

It was not as disconcerting as it probably would have been in different circumstances to see Juice spooning his teenage son in bed. Stiles appeared to be asleep, buried beneath what looked like two kuttes, two sweatshirts, and a thin hospital blanket. His hands were balled up at his chest, Juice’s larger ones covering them. If Juice was awake, he didn’t seem to notice the added company, how could he when his face was nestled in the crook of Stiles neck?

“Dude,” Jax smacked Juice’s leg, rousing him from his slumber. “You have an audience.”

“Huh?” Juice lifted his head to glance around the room.

“Juan Carlos,” John pointedly cleared his throat. “Comfortable?”

“Oh, uh,” Juice met John’s eye, but made no move to release his hold on his bedmate. “Stiles was tired and cold. Jax was busy yelling at nurses and doctors, so I just thought I would…share my body heat.”

“Okay.” John supposed that was a noble gesture. “I guess I should be thankful you both didn’t strip down to share your heat.”

“I thought about it. You see it in movies all the time. A couple is stranded during a blizzard without heat or real shelter. One of them usually falls in a frozen lake or something. They get naked to warm each other up and prevent hypothermia.” Juice rambled, restlessly drumming his fingers over Stiles knuckles. “Stiles was cold, but not hypothermic, so I didn’t think it was necessary. I would, though, I would, um, get naked with him if it’s—“

“Juice,” Stiles mumbled, his bleary eyes blinking owlishly. “Stop talking, please.”

“Yeah, okay. Good call.” Juice nodded, clamping his jaw shut.

“Stiles,” John wanted nothing more than to get up and go to his son, but he was fairly certain Gemma wouldn’t let him. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah, Pop, I’m fine.” Stiles claimed through a yawn as he extracted himself from Juice and climbed off the bed. “Jax just overreacted.”

“The fuck I did.” Jax’s hand twitched like he was restraining the urge to pop his brother as he passed by him crossing the hall. “You are barely over the cold from hell. I wasn’t gonna risk you getting sick again.”

“You did the right thing, Jax.” John praised his son’s brother, knowing that when it came to Stiles, it was better to be safe than sorry. “Thank you for bringing him in.”

“What is this?” Stiles brushed his hand over the bandage on John’s arm as he came to stand beside his hospital bed. “ _Who_ did this?”

“I did.” Henriksen lowered the phone from his ear, ending his call to take Gemma’s earlier advice and be straightforward with Stiles. “I shot your father. I was possessed. I had no idea what I was doing. I am very sorry.”

“Who are you?” Stiles shifted on his feet, taking a protective stance in front of his father.

“Special Agent Victor Henriksen,” The agent held out his hand in greeting. “I was assigned to bring Sam and Dean in.”

“Uh-huh.” Stiles hesitated, weighing the information he’d been given, before accepting the proffered hand, giving it a hearty shake. “If you were possessed, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Wait, wait, wait. What the fuck?” Dean screeched, sounding close to hysterics. “If I was the one who had shot your dad, possessed or not, you would pull a gun on me. Why does he get a pass?”

“If you had shot my dad, you would have tried to lie to me about it, say a random demon did it, not you. I would find out the truth, I always do, and I would have shot you in the exact place you shot my dad.” Stiles glowered at the hunter. “Agent Henriksen didn’t try to lie. He told me the truth. You should learn from that.”

“The pathological liar is telling me to learn to tell the truth? That’s ironic.” Dean snorted derisively. “You know, he didn’t tell you the _full_ truth. He killed Unser before he shot your dad.”

“Holy shit.” Jax and Juice blurted out in unison.

“Stiles, hush.” John silenced his son before he could start applauding Henriksen. “Jax take your mother to get a cup of coffee. There’s a vending machine down the hall.”

“Uh, okay,” Jax wrapped an arm around his mother and guided her down the hall.

“Okay, Stiles, I know you hated Wayne, I did too.” He didn’t hide it when Wayne was alive, he wouldn’t hide it now that he was dead. “But he was still a man with a wife and children—“

“Who he didn’t give a shit about. Della and the girls came last to him, after Gem, after the club.” Stiles did not hold back an ounce of his disdain for the deceased. “I guarantee he only married Della ‘cause he couldn’t have Gem.”

“Regardless of who he was and how we felt about him, Wayne was still Gemma’s friend. They knew each other a long time, son. Gemma loved him in her own way, and we have to respect that.” Since John had pretty much already screwed the pooch on that respect thing, he was counting on Stiles to do things the right way. “What _aren’t_ you going to do when you go out there to speak to Gemma?”

“Fist pump the air and go ‘Whoo! Ding-dong the dick is dead!’” Stiles cackled, waving his fists in the air animatedly. “I’m saving that one for when Clay bites it.”

“Good lord.” Henriksen whistled, shaking his head. “Ya’ll weren’t kidding about this one.”

“Nope.” Dean chuckled, smiling like a dope.

“Empathy, Stiles! Come on.“ John had raised him to be better than that. “No, you know what, we’ll deal with the Clay thing when it happens. Back to the situation at hand, Gemma. What are _you_ going to say to her in the most sincere voice you can muster?”

“’I’m sorry for your loss. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?’”

“Very good.” It wasn’t exactly heartfelt, but some things couldn’t be faked, and it was the best John could hope for in the limited time frame. He would have coached his son further if it hadn’t been for the ‘clack’ of Gemma’s heels approaching. “Now wipe that grin off your face and try to look morose. Here they are.”

“That vending machine is out of order.” Jax said as they returned empty handed. “Mom didn’t want to look for another one.”

“Gemma,” Stiles slouched his shoulders, set his lips in a grim line, ducked his head, and gazed up at her through his lashes, looking the picture of sorrowful. “I’m really sorry about Unser. I know he was your friend it must really hurt to lose him. I’m sorry. If you need anything, well, I’m here for you.”

Had _anyone_ else offered condolences such as those, they would have been met with pats on the back, and followed by a round of similar commiserations spewed from different mouths. But Stiles to Gemma about Unser with this crowd? Yeah, not likely.

“He’s fucking pathological.” Dean hissed in Jax's direction. “How did he say that with a straight face?”

Juice broke next, rolling off the gurney he’d previously shared with Stiles, doubling over and making a noise that John could only categorize as that of a dying walrus. Jax, opting to play the good son and brother, had to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter, but otherwise remained relatively composed.

“You’re sorry for my loss and you’re here for me….” A flurry of emotions flickered over Gemma’s face as she processed their son’s words: gratitude, sympathy, surprise, a minimal amount of fear, and…amusement. “How much did it pain you to say that?”

“More than you’ll ever know.” Stiles admitted, sagging in relief at being able to drop the act. “Was I that bad?”

“No. Your father was bad.” Gemma, in a ploy to make Stiles feel better, revealed John’s earlier flub. “He said he was _happy_ for my loss.”

“Oh, damn.” John smacked a hand to his forehead. “Blood loss. I had been shot. I plead blood loss.”

“Blood loss, sure.”

* * *

 

Stiles weariness caught up with him while everyone was busy ribbing his father over his misspoken condolences. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion to the point where it was a struggle to keep them open. His muscles ached from the strain put on them, so much so that he had to sit on the edge of his dad’s hospital dead to take the pressure off. And the chill he still felt deep in his bones? Well, it was easier to believe it was a side effect of being in the water too long rather than a latent fear response from nearly drowning.

“Here, take this.” Juice pushed a hoodie into Stiles arms. “I could see you still shivering from the other side of the room.”

“I run cold.” Not that it stopped him from pulling on the sweater as quickly as he could to find some fucking warmth. “Why do you think I always wear layers?”

“So, I’ve got a question. How did you guys know Stiles and Derek needed help?” Sam asked, glancing between Jax and Juice. “Did you just happen to show up at the school at the right time and hear screaming coming from the pool?”

“Stiles called us,” Jax relayed, resting a hip on the end of Dean’s gurney. “He called us and we came running.”

“Yeah, but you said he jumped in after Derek,” Sam recalled, massaging his temples as he tried to work out what had gone down. “If he was in the water with Derek, he wouldn’t have been able to call you. If his phone was on him, it would have been soaked and unusable.”

“That’s a good point, Sammy.” Dean commented, turning to Stiles for an explanation. “If you dove in after Derek, how did your phone end up at the side of the pool, free of the splash zone, but still within reaching distance?”

“I didn’t call _Jax_ from my phone. That wasn’t my phone.” Stiles bit his lip and trained his gaze on his damp shoes. “Some guy gave it to me.”

“What guy?”

“I don’t know, man. He didn’t stick around long enough for me to find out. He appeared out of nowhere, left a phone at the edge of the pool, and then he was gone.” At best Stiles had an outlandish theory as to who the guy was, but he doubted even the Winchesters would believe him. “He kinda looked like the imaginary friend I had as a kid.”

“The angel?” His dad questioned inquisitively. “I think you called him Bee or something.”

“He was an angel?” Okay, so maybe that crack he made to Derek wasn’t too far off the mark.

“When you told your mom and me about him, you said he had huge wings like an angel.” His dad remarked, reminding Stiles of the time his parents had sat him down for a chat after catching him talking to himself one too many times. “You stopped seeing him, or talking about him, after your mom got sick.”

“Your imaginary friend was an angel?” Juice could never be accused of cooing over anything, but if he ever were, that question, the way he said it, would be _exhibit one_ at the evidentiary hearing. “That’s cute.”

“Yeah, apparently it was.” Stiles was just as perplexed as the rest of them about that. “What was yours, an IBM computer?”

“…Yes.” Juice looked away, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “My parents probably would’ve preferred the angel.”

“Yeah, well, at least your computer wasn’t actually imaginary, it was a physical thing.” That was a hell of a lot more than Stiles could say about B. “The angel isn’t—wasn’t. He was a figment of my mind or something. My subconscious conjured him at the pool because I was scared.”

“If that’s true, how did you get the phone?” Dean pressed him for a plausible answer. “You said he—it gave you a phone. Did you imagine that too? Was the phone you used to call Jax yours?”

“My phone was at the bottom of the pool. I had dropped it at the edge of the pool when Derek fell in. I nearly let him drown so I could use it to call for help.” He confessed, fidgeting nervously with the sleeves of his burrowed hoodie. “But it didn’t work out.”

“Dipshit called Scott of all people.” Jax’s face flushed a nice shade of crimson that complemented his rising temper nicely. “Scott, of course, was as useless as usual.”

“He did show up. He was in the parking lot when Jax and I got there, but it was entirely coincidental. He was there to get a flash drive off Stiles, not help him or Derek.” Juice shined a bright light on Scott’s role, or lack thereof. “Given how much Scott hates Derek, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was waiting for them to drown and the kanima to get bored without anything to play with, before he went in to snatch the flash drive off Stiles body.”

“That’s a load of crap.” Melissa shrieked in a shrill voice only a mother sitting atop the highest of horses could reach as she stomped down the hall, Scott limping behind her. “You all left _my_ kid to be killed by that thing, not the other way around!”

“Hey, not my idea, lady,” Juice held his hands up in a mocking manner. “I wanted to beat the little prick so badly that even werewolf healing wouldn’t be able to put humpty dumpty back together again. Jax vetoed that idea.”

“Nah, I just sort of outsourced it to the kanima,” Jax corrected nonchalantly, jutting his chin out defiantly. “It has that nifty paralytic, so it could take its time picking him apart. At least that’s what I hoped it would do. I know better now. That mistake won’t happen again. Next time I’ll just put a bullet your little bastard’s head and call it a day.”

“You are going to stay the hell away from my son.” Melissa jabbed a finger to Jax’s chest. “You touch him again and I’ll—“

“You won’t do shit.” Gemma grabbed her by the wrist, shoving Melissa away from her oldest boy. “No one buys your weak threats. Back off.”

“You do not tell me what to do.” Melissa snarled, her focus solely on the other mother. “Your son tried to kill mine. I’m going to press charges.”

“Press charges? What exactly do you plan to say? Hmm? That my kid sicked a giant lizard on yours? You know, sweetheart, why don’t you just stand your ass over there, while I talk to my son and figure this out.” Gemma turned her back on Melissa to address Jax. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I threw Scott at the kanima.” Jax said unapologetically. “Logic was it would either maim or kill him, preferably the latter.”

“Why?” Gemma asked, not reacting at all to her son’s murderous attitude.

“Stiles and Derek were trapped in the pool by the kanima. Stiles called Scott for help, Scott hung up on him.” Jax explained, his face scrunched up in disgust. “Then it was like Juice said, Stiles called us, we showed up, and Scott was dicking around in the parking lot instead of helping them like a decent human being.”

“I didn’t know they needed help!” Scott cut in, coming to his own defense when no one else would. “I—“

“You hung up on him.” Jax sneered at the wolf. “I gotta tell you, kid, in times of crisis, your true colors really start to show. I mean, just a few months ago, you were ready to throw John to alpha to avoid having your girlfriend find out that you were a werewolf.”

“When Kate shot Derek with a wolfsbane bullet, he asked you for help in getting the cure from the Argents house, which you had access to because you were dating their daughter. You took your time, decided to have dinner and dessert with them instead of snatching the bullet and going to save Derek.” Sam added critically. “You have shown, more than once, that you have a serious disregard for any life that’s not your own or Allison’s.”

There was something very interesting, Stiles noticed, going on with Melissa when Jax and Sam spoke of Scott’s behavior. Her face paled and her body went rigid. She was shocked, completely and utterly shocked, as if it were the first time she was hearing any of it, maybe it was.

“Jesus Christ.” Stiles spit out. “Scott didn’t tell you any of this, did he, Melissa? And you didn’t even ask.”

“You know, he’s right. You looked surprised by Jax’s reasoning.” Stiles father interjected, pushing himself out of his hospital bed. “It didn’t even cross your mind that Scott wasn’t an innocent victim in all this.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s a victim or not. No one deserves what Jax did to my son.” Melissa alleged, a hint of betrayal in her tone, like she wasn’t expecting the sheriff to choose the outlaw biker over her precious baby.

“I bet you’d think different if Scott was the one left to drown by Stiles,” John retorted, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Gemma in a show of solidarity. “You probably would have been the one throwing Stiles to the kanima, then you still would have come here and yelled at me about how my kid left yours to drown.”

“See, you think you’ve raised Scott to be such a good boy, that even when you know he’s done wrong, he has to be right.“ Gemma rounded on the other woman. “You don’t care about why--"

“I know why, because I know my son.” Melissa squared her shoulders, holding firm in her position and refusing to be intimidated by SAMCRO’s matriarch. “When Scott does something, it is always with the best intentions in mind.”

“He had the best intentions, so what the fuck does it matter what actually happened, right? And my kids, my boys, they aren’t Scott, so obviously their intentions are rooted in pure evil.” Gemma stormed, placing her hands on her hips. “In your mind, Jax wanted to hurt Scott, just because he could. God forbid he actually have a good reason, like Scott leaving Stiles and Derek to drown.”

“Scott already said he hung up before Stiles could tell him what was going on.” Melissa said as if it were an airtight alibi for her son’s lack of action. “He’s not psychic. How was he supposed to know they were in trouble?”

“I think the panic in my voice when I screamed ‘Scott’ into the phone as soon as he picked up was a pretty good indicator.” Stiles chimed in, shooting a hole in the McCall’s defense strategy. “I did the same thing with Jax, and he understood me perfectly.”

“Stiles, I’m sorry.” Scott apologized weakly. “I didn’t think you were really in trouble.”

“I'm sorry too, Scotty," Stiles admitted sullenly. "For going along with the plan you and Allison cooked up. I should have known it would go bad, it always does."

“Scott, you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did not leave him in the pool on purpose, but his brother knew exactly what he was doing when he gave you to that lizard thing.” Melissa absolved her son of any and all wrongdoings before turning her rage on Stiles personally. “Instead of whining about what Scott did or didn’t do, you should take a long hard look at how you wound up in that pool to begin with. That thing really only attacked Derek, right? It left you alone. Maybe if you weren’t hanging out with someone whose troubles follow him everywhere he goes, you wouldn’t have ended up in that pool at all.”

“Are you serious?” Dean’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he listened to Melissa’s shit-tastic attempt at the blame game. “You want to pin all this on _Derek_? He’s the victim.”

“She won’t accept that her son is guilty in this too, so she has to shift the blame to an easy target.” Gemma said, staring at the woman with contempt. “Because when your kid fucks up, it reflects poorly on you, ‘cause you raised them.”

“Your son leaving a teenage boy to die so easily certainly reflects on you,” Melissa remarked scornfully. “You must be so proud.”

“He was protecting his baby brother from someone who is a danger to him. You could say he had the _best intentions in mind_.” Gemma commended her oldest boy. “And what was it Scott was doing that was so important that he would hang up on his terrified best friend?”

“He was at the Argent house,” Stiles took it upon himself to answer for his ‘friend’. “Looking for the bestiary with Allison.”

“We needed to know what the lizard thing was,” Scott elaborated, lest they think he was at the Argent house doing other things, like Allison. “It’s killing people.”

“He was trying to identify the monster running around Beacon Hills, to stop it from hurting anyone else,” Melissa puffed her chest out proudly. “That took precedence over—“

“Over the lives of two boys who were in mortal danger at that very moment? So ‘you’re a good of the many outweigh the good of the one’ kind of woman.” Henriksen, who had remained silent throughout the conversation, spoke up. “I see your wearing scrubs, you’re a doctor or a nurse. Let me ask you a question, say you’re in the ER, treating a kid having a severe allergic reaction, his throats closing up and all that, when you get word there’s a trauma rolling in. There was a pile-up on the highway, multiple victims with life-threatening injuries, and it’s all hands on deck. Do you abandon the kid who can’t breathe, who will die without your help, to prepare to treat car accident victims, because there are more of them?”

“That’s an entirely different situation.” Melissa claimed dismissively. “I don’t know who you are, but you need to stay out of this, it’s none of your business.”

“It’s only different because the people involved in that hypothetical scenario aren’t our kids.” Gemma acknowledged. “You and your son think searching for a book, which he didn’t find, was more important than two lives.”

“And all of you seem to think hanging up a phone is a capital offense.” Melissa seethed, throwing her hands up in frustration. “How does that even make sense?”

“Well, Scott answered the call, it probably lasted a few seconds, long enough for Stiles to shout over the line – we can check phone records to confirm that. Scott hung up on what was virtually a distress call.” Sam went over the evidence stacked against the younger McCall. “Capital offense? No. I’d call it gross negligence. Scott’s lucky Stiles and Derek survived.”

“He. Hung. Up. The. Phone.” Melissa enunciated each word carefully, as she believed they were all hard of hearing. “That’s not a crime. He did nothing wrong.”

“Darlin’,” Gemma took a deep breath and tried to get through to dense woman. “Even I can recognize that Jax ‘outsourcing’ Scott’s ass kicking to the kanima was a step too far. We handle that shit internally. You need to realize your kid is complicit—“

“My son did nothing wrong!” Melissa’s furious yell bounced off the walls of the triage unit. “He hung up the phone. He still showed up at the school to help, he didn’t have to do that when Stiles and Derek got themselves into that mess. My son did not deserve to be thrown to a murderous lizard. Scott did nothing wrong, get that through your thick skull.”

Yesterday, had someone asked Stiles who the better mother was, Gemma or Melissa, he would have said Melissa by default. Gemma had abandon him at birth, and while she had tried to make up for it over the years, he had never really been able to move past it. Melissa had always been there for Scott, picked up the slack her deadbeat husband left behind when he bailed. However, watching their intense standoff, the back and forth between them, Stiles realized he had jumped the gun on his assessment.

There was far more to being a parent than simply being present or affectionate. It was teaching your kid right from wrong, and showing them things go wrong even if you do everything right. Gemma understood that, despite the criminal element to their lives, Stiles had witnessed her berate Jax, along with several club member about their shitty life choices. Melissa, though, was under the impression that no matter what Scott did or who it hurt, it was her job to make him unaccountable for the damage, and that was dangerous.

“Ah crap,” Stiles groaned as the realization of what that meant sunk in. “Mama Gemma?”

“I’m not backing off, Stiles.” Gemma snapped, taking the use of his nickname for her as a call to heel. “She needs to realize her kid is not god’s gift to humanity.”

“No, I know. I wasn’t gonna stop you.” He was a 100% on her side in this showdown. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re a good mom.”

“What the fuck?” Jax abandon his post at the end of Dean’s bed to smack a hand to Stiles forehead, checking for a fever. “Man, I knew you were sick.”

“I’m not sick or delirious.” Although he could see why his brother would jump to that conclusion. “It’s a shock to me too, okay, but I’ve gone over the evidence and as it turns out, between she and Melissa, Gemma is the better mother.”

“Are you kidding?” Melissa scoffed. “How do you figure? Is it because I’m not taking your side on this? Is that it?”

“Not at all. You’re defending your son, I get that, it’s part of being a parent, but you can’t defend his decisions while being in denial about them.” That’s how Stiles saw it anyway, but then again, he wasn’t a parent, so what the hell did he know? “You’re supposed to teach him to make good decisions, you can’t do that if you refuse to acknowledge the bad ones. You’re supposed to help him process the guilt over the fallout of his choices, not absolve him of it entirely.”

“Sorry to break up this powerful rendition of _Hatfields & McCoys_, or is it _Romeo & Juliet_?” A skinny blonde woman suddenly appeared out of nowhere, interrupting their feud. “Either way, you should turn on the news.”

“Who the hell are you?” Jax asked, instinctively shielding Stiles with an arm across his chest.

“It’s okay.” Sam assured him, flicking on the TV mounted to the wall. “She’s my friend Ruby.”

“His demon friend.” Dean grunted as the TV blared to life with a breaking news report.

 _“The community is reeling from the tragedy that happened less than an hour ago,”_ The newscaster reported the sheriff stations smokey parking lot. _“Authorities believe a gas main ruptured, causing the massive explosion that ripped apart the police station and claimed the lives of everyone inside.”_

“Oh god.” Stiles father quivered as the screen began showing images of the decimation of his department. “No, no, this isn’t right. Someone should have told me. I should be notifying families. They shouldn’t hear about this on the news.”

 _“Among the deceased are five police officers, including Deputy Nancy Hansen, Melvin Dodd, and Phil Amici, as well as two FBI agents, identified as Steven Groves and Calvin Reidy,”_   Photos of the remnants of the station were replaced with ones of the deceased on the television. _“Two fugitives in custody, Dean and Samuel Winchester, were also killed. We’ll continue to follow the story here at the scene, but for now, back to you, Jim.”_

“Must have happened right after we left.” Sam reasoned solemnly. “Guessing it wasn’t a gas main."

“Considering the size of the blast? Smart money’s on Lilith.” Ruby determined, tossing hex bags to Sam and Dean. “Those should protect you, throw Lilith off your tail…for now.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Lilith killed everyone. She slaughtered the deputy and two dozen innocent civilians. So after your big speech about humanity and war, turns out your plan was the one with the body count.” Ruby criticized the Winchesters. “Do you know how to a run a battle? You strike fast and you don’t leave any survivors. So no one can go running to tell the boss. So next time, we go with my plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Ghostfacers & Venomous Frenemies


	12. Ghostfacers & Venomous Frenemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Gif sets: [Pieces on the Board](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/162589062589/charming-wayward-sons-verse-pieces-on-the-board), [Substitute Teacher](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/162612619024/charming-wayward-sons-verse-substitute-teacher)  
> Episodes: [SPN] 3x13 Ghostfacers, [TW] 2x05 Venomous & 2x06 Frenemies

Assisting Sheriff Stilinski in getting the police department’s computer system up and running in the temporary station was a far more time consuming task than Juice had anticipated. The entire system was outdated, something he took it upon himself to rectify by getting rid of the dial-up internet in favor of something more modern, and upgrading the software in general. It wasn’t an easy task, especially when the department’s few remaining deputies were constantly looking over his shoulder.

Even with Stilinski and Henriksen’s votes of approval, the deputies didn’t trust him. He figured it had something to do with his reaper tats, so he let it go and went about his business. All in all, it took about a week to get it all running smoothly.

“The system’s good to go, you shouldn’t have any problems with it. If there are any issues, though, your usual IT guy can probably handle it.” Juice told John as they plodded up the walkway the Stilinski house. “If not, you can call me and I’ll come up to take care of it. And once the stations rebuilt, I’ll come help move all the equipment and set it up again. Any idea when that’ll be?”

“Couple weeks. We have construction crews working ‘round the clock to get it done as quickly as possible,” John relayed, unlocking the front door. “I appreciate your help these last few days, Juan Carlos. Our IT guy isn’t exactly up on the latest tech.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” The dude had also been incredibly territorial and did not appreciate Juice working in his space. “I don’t mind helping out. I don’t get to do a lot of computer stuff with the club or for TM. It’s nice to get back to the tech stuff.”

“I would suggest taking a step back from the club or TM to focus on your tech, but I know better than that.” John pushed open the door and froze as he took in the state of his living room. “Oh, hell.”

When they’d left the house that morning, everything had been neat and orderly, in its rightful place, and now it was a complete mess. Books were piled atop the furniture, some even wedged between couch cushions. Papers were strewn across nearly every inch of open flooring, some tacked and taped to the walls. It looked like a damn tornado had blown through while they were gone.

“I should have expected this,” John sighed, cautiously sidestepping around the mess, so not to disturb it. “With everything going on, this was bound to happen.”

“At least he’s not taking things apart this time,” Juice tried to look at the bright side of Stiles particular coping mechanism.

“Stiles?” John called out, his voice carrying through the house. “You here, buddy?”

“Yeah! Y-Yes!” The teenager yelled from the second floor. “D-Don’t touch anything! Do not touch anything!”

The clamoring sound of feet rushing over hardwood was quickly followed by Stiles stumbling down the stairs, tripping over the last three steps. The kid was definitely in a state, tense, wound up tight. There were coffee stains on his shirt, and marks on his arms and face that appeared to be made by a sharpie or highlighter, such as the one he had white-knuckled in his grip.

“Did you touch anything?” Stiles wide-eyes scanned the living room carefully, checking to see that his work had been left alone as requested. “Don’t touch it. Everything is where it’s supposed to be, if you move it, it’ll be all wrong and I’ll have to start all over. Please, d-don’t touch it.”

“We’re not gonna touch it, buddy,” John promised as he continued to navigate around the clutter until he was at his son’s side. “What are you working on?”

“In here is everything I’ve found on demon deals and Lilith. In the kitchen is stuff about the Argent family. It’s not much, they keep a low profile, but I thought if we could find an overlap between where they’ve lived and families being murdered, then we could have a pattern.” Stiles gesticulated his arms in the directions of his many research projects as he spoke. “Oh, and in my room is the kanima research Bobby dropped off this morning before he went back to Sioux Falls. And I’m trying to think of what to do about Stahl, but I-I don’t know what I can do. I wanna do something to help, but I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s not on you to do anything about Stahl,” Juice said softly, wishing like hell that Stahl had never involved Stiles in all the bullshit, because then he wouldn’t feel like it was his problem to solve. “There’s nothing any of us can do about Stahl and the case she’s trying to make. We can only watch it play out.”

“Well, I have to do something!” Stiles barked, stomping his foot out of frustration. “I don’t think Stahl’s as stupid as she’s trying to make us believe she is. That shit she pulled on me, arresting me without cause, denying my right to a lawyer, interrogating me without a parent or guardian, those are rookie mistakes.”

“You think she made those mistakes on purpose?” Juice and the club just assumed she was throwing her power around, showing them she could get to the people they cared about. “Why would she do that?”

“She’s calculating. Right now, you guys are taking extra precautions to make sure she doesn’t uncover the clubs illegal activities,” Stiles acknowledged, wringing his hands agitatedly. “If you think she’s incompetent, you’ll get sloppy, you’ll let your guard down, ‘cause you think she’ll fuck up and blow the case on some technicality.”

“We’re not gonna let our guard down,” Well, they wouldn’t once Juice took Stiles theory to the table. “There’s still nothing we can actually do about Stahl, Stiles. It’s best not to waste time worrying about it.”

“He’s right,” John agreed, giving his son’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry about something you have no control over.”

“That’s impossible!” Stiles cried out, chucking the marker across the room. “I can’t control anything!”

“Stiles—“

“Stahl is trying to put my family in jail. The Argents are trying to take over Beacon Hills, and make Scott their puppet – and Scott’s letting them! Derek’s pups are ready to maul anyone who looks at them the wrong away. The kanima is killing and paralyzing its way through town. Some demon bitch wants to mount Sam’s head in her trophy case. And, oh yeah, Dean’s one-way ticket to hell is going to be punched in a matter of weeks!” Stiles ranted hysterically, covering his face with his hands. “T-There’s too many…there’s too many pieces on the board. We have too many players. We can’t predict what moves they’re going to make.”

“Hey, hey,” John kneaded his son’s shoulder soothingly. “Easy, buddy, okay? Calm down, kiddo.”

“I can’t,” Stiles whined, dropping his arms to sides and revealing his red-rimmed eyes. “It’s too much, there’s too much.”

“Let us help,” John suggested, bending down to scoop a pile of papers off the floor. “I can look over what you have so far—“

“No, no, no!” Stiles ripped the documents from his father’s hands, spreading them back out on the floor, just as they had been. “Don’t move it. You can’t move it. It’s all where it’s supposed to be. I know it looks chaotic, but there’s an order. It needs to stay in order so I can find what I need when I need it. You can’t move it. Don’t move it. Please.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t move anything, I promise.” John raised his hands in surrender as he lowered himself to the floor. “I’ll just sit here and look at it, okay? Is that okay?”

“Uh, y-yeah. Yes. I-I think that’s okay.” Stiles hesitantly agreed. “You can look. That’s okay.”

“While he’s doing that, how about you take a shower?” Juice proposed, gesturing to the ink staining Stiles pale skin. “You don’t want to go to school tomorrow with all that on you.”

“No, I took a shower this morning,” Stiles waved off the recommendation. “I don’t want another one.”

“Then let’s just get you cleaned up.”

Juice took Stiles hand in his own, not giving him a real choice in the matter. He tugged gently on the appendage until the teenager’s feet started moving and he allowed himself to be led to the first floor bathroom.

“All right,” Juice flicked on the light and nudged Stiles into a sitting position on the counter. “Let’s see if we can get this stuff off you.”

He took a washcloth from beside the sink and ran it under the tap, wetting it with warm water and adding a dab of hand soap. He brushed the cloth over the marks on Stiles chin, scrubbing them away as gently as he could. He repeated the ministrations on Stiles cheeks, throat, and arms, feeling the teenager relax into his touch little by little.

“Have you eaten today?” Juice asked, wiping a blotch of ink from Stiles wrist. “I can make you something when we’re done here.”

“I’m not hungry,” Stiles murmured, blinking owlishly as he struggled to stay awake. “I’m just tired.”

“We’re almost finished with this,” There were only two marks left that Juice could see. “Then you can go get some sleep.”

“No, I can’t.” Stiles shook his head. ”Too much to do. I have more research. I haven’t found anything yet. I have to find something.”

“You need to rest or you won’t be able to focus,” Juice appealed to the teenager’s logical side. “Your dad and I can work on your research a little tonight. We can all go over what we found at breakfast. Three heads are better than one, right? Sound like a plan?”

“Yeah,” Stiles accepted the plan, albeit grudgingly. “Thanks, Juice.”

“No problem.”

* * *

 

The morning sun breaking through the windows bathed Dean in a halo of light, accentuating the hard lines of his body. He was splayed out in the middle of the bed, legs spread wide, licking his lips invitingly. He was ready and willing, just waiting for Jax, and all Jax wanted to do was strip him down, open him up, and sink into his tight heat.

He settled between Dean’s thighs, rolling their hips together in a practiced motion. He licked a long strip up his throat, nibbling his skin gently as the hunter arched into his touch. He skimmed his nails across Dean’s chest, trailing them over his ribcage and down his abdomen, slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his briefs, teasing the head of his cock with his fingertips.

Dean shuddered out a moan, bucking his hips. His grasped a handful of Jax’s hair, using a rough grip to pull Jax from his neck, bringing their lips together in a fierce kiss.

“Hey!” Derek shouted through the loft as he stepped off the elevator. “That’s my bed!”

“You weren’t using it,” Dean pointed out, releasing his hold on Jax with the mood effectively killed. “Shame to let it go to waste.”

“They’ve been at it all night.” Sam groused, sliding the loft door shut with a harsh slam. “That’s why I slept in the empty apartment downstairs. Did you crash at the subway car?”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it on the back of a chair. “I had some things to take care of.”

“Oh yeah?” Jax sat back on his heels. “Like what? Kanima shit?”

“Yeah, among other things,” The wolf responded curtly. “Get off my bed and put on some clothes and I’ll tell you about it.”

 Jax rolled his eyes at the request, but he and Dean ultimately complied, shuffling off the bed and pulling on their discarded clothing from the previous night.

“So what did you learn about the kanima?” Dean questioned as they ambled tiredly into the living room. “You know who it is yet?”

“It’s not Jackson,” The alpha reported, taking a seat on the couch. “Dad’s research said the kanima would be immune to its own venom. I tested Jackson last night; it paralyzed him like it did me and Stiles.”

“So, unless Bobby was wrong, the Whittemore kid can’t be the kanima,” As far as Jax knew, the Whittemore kid was their only suspect. “Who else could it be?”

“Lydia,” Sam chimed in, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Peter bit her at that winter dance. She didn’t turn, not that we know of anyway.”

“She’s the only other person it could be,” Derek remarked, cracking his knuckles. “Isaac and Erica are gonna take care of her at school today.”

“Take care of her? We don’t even know for sure if it is her. You’re going to tell your pups to stand down,” Dean ordered, taking the patented ‘stern-dad’ stance, one hand on his hip while the other wagged a finger in the wolf’s face. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Isaac still a suspect, wanted for questioning, in his dad’s murder? I mean, Stilinski isn’t actually looking for him, he knows Isaac didn’t do it, but the DA and the deputies aren’t going to ignore the evidence pointing to Isaac. Showing up at school might be a bad idea.”

“He was only a suspect because Jackson made him look like one. They lived across the street from each other. Jackson told the cops he saw Isaac arguing with his dad the night he was murdered.” Derek explained the circumstances behind Isaac’s ‘wanted’ status. “After his paralysis wore off, he went to the station and retracted that statement. Isaac is no longer a suspect. He’s free to go where he likes, including to school.”

“Not if he’s going to kill a potentially innocent little girl,” Dean put his foot down on the poorly concocted plan. “We don’t know if Lydia is the kanima. Even if she is, we don’t know if she’s aware of it or of what she’s doing.”

“We’ll test her first,” Derek snapped, exploding off the sofa in a fit of anger. “If she doesn’t react to the venom, then we’ll know.”

“And then what, tough guy?” Dean stood toe-to-toe with the wolf. “You gonna kill her? You going to murder a teenage girl who may not even know what she is?”

“I’m not going to let that thing kill anyone else,” Derek snarled, shouldering past the hunter toward the door. “If that means killing Lydia, then so be it.”

“Derek!” Dean yelled uselessly at the wolf, who chose to ignore him and get into the elevator, slamming the door shut behind him. “Goddamn it. That fucking kid, man….”

“We can’t let him kill Lydia,” Sam stated the obvious, as if he thought his brother might just let Derek knock off the teeny-bopper. “Whether she’s the kanima or not.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sammy,” Dean glared daggers at his little brother. “I guess operation ‘Infiltrate Beacon Hills High School’ is going into effect sooner than we planned. Think you can get in there today?”

“School doesn’t start for a few more hours. I just have to lean on Harris, get him to take that vacation we talked about a few days early,” Sam confirmed that he could put things in motion in time to stop the potential murder of the girl. “But Dean, we have that Morton Mansion hunt tonight. We need to get on the road soon if we want to get there on time. It’s one night out of the year. That’s a small window we can’t afford to miss. You can’t go alone.”

“I’ll go with him,” Jax volunteered his services, not having anything more important to do. “We should take Stiles. He’s dealt with enough kanima crap, and he can afford to take a day or two off school.”

“If his dad’s cool with it, sure. We could always use the help,” Dean nodded in agreement. “Let’s get our shit together and head over to get him. Sam, you go talk to Harris. Oh, and make sure Derek doesn’t kill anybody today.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

* * *

 

Juice rested a hip against the kitchen counter and sipped his coffee as he poured over the research on the Argent family that Stiles head left in the room the previous night. None of it made any sense to him, it was all in some kind of shorthand he was having a hard time deciphering. He wanted to ask for a cheat sheet to help him understand, but he was afraid any mention of the research would send the kid back into his hyper-focused, nearly manic headspace.

Stiles had come back to himself after a few hours of sleep. Juice had heard him puttering around the house at sunrise, gathering the papers he’d left scattered about. He had left neat piles of well-organized research packets in place of the mess then retreated back to his room. Juice hadn’t seen him since.

“Hey, where’s everyone at?” Jax’s too-loud-for-so-early-in-the-morning voice echoed from the foyer. “Hello?”

“In here!”

“Hey,” Jax greeted as he and Dean moseyed into the kitchen. “What’s up? Where is everyone?”

“Stiles is upstairs, getting ready for school or something,” Juice didn't want the kid to think he was hovering, so he’d refrained from checking on him. “Stilinski went into work early.”

“You didn’t go with him?” Dean asked, making himself at home by fixing a cup of coffee. “Weren’t you helping him with the computers?”

“Finished that yesterday,” Pending any technical difficulties, his job at the station was done until the rebuild was complete. “Got done late, so I just crashed here last night. I was gonna head home after Stiles left for school.”

“We’re actually here to pick Stiles up,” Jax mentioned, taking Dean’s mug for himself. “I’m going on a hunt with Dean. I thought we’d take Stiles with us, get him away from all the Beacon Hills bullshit for a little while, you know.”

“Taking Stiles on a hunt right now is a bad idea,” Juice set the Argent research on the counter to give Jax his full attention. “He kind of had a meltdown last night.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“When Stilinski and I got back to the house, Stiles was doing research on all sorts of shit. Werewolves, kanimas, that Lilith chick. He was even trying to find dirt on Stahl and the Argents.” Juice could say one thing for Stiles, even in the midst of a breakdown he was more productive than most. “He yelled at us not to touch any of it, said it was all where it was supposed to be—on the living room floor, tacked to the walls, here in the kitchen, all over his room. His research was everywhere. His dad had to promise to leave it all alone before Stiles would even take a breath.”

“Christ.” Jax closed his eyes, raking his fingers through his hair. “I hate when he gets like that, goes to that place.”

“He needs a break, not something new to deal with. If you and Dean need another person to go with you on the hunt, I’ll do it.” Juice offered himself up as a replacement. “Just let Stiles sit this one out.”

“Okay, Stiles stays behind to get his head on straight,” Jax agreed, knowing it was in his brother’s best interest. “You’ll help me and Dean with this Morton Mansion thing.”

“What’s Morton Mansion?” Stiles inquired, shuffling in from the hall to join them in the kitchen. “Some kind of haunted house?”

“Yep, just a run of the mill vengeful spirit.” Dean answered quickly, making the hunt seem dull as dirt and entirely uninteresting. “Jax, Juice, and I are gonna go check it out.”

“You need three people to take out a vengeful spirit?” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing them all suspiciously. “Why?”

“Well, it was just going to be me and your brother,” Dean patted Jax on the back affectionately. “Then Juice wanted to come and learn some new hunting skills, stretch the ones he’s got, you know.”

“No. No, I don’t know.” Stiles remarked coolly, pursing his lips. “’Cause Juice hates hunting.”

“Say what now?” Dean’s mouth dropped open in shock as he swiveled his head to face the Son in question. “You _hate_ hunting?”

“No. No. Um,” Hate was a strong word that Juice didn’t like to use often. “I respect your job, I just don’t like it for myself. I don’t like being the one to hunt things.”

“Since when?”

“Since the first hunt you took me on, the skinwalker. I slipped on a slab of its discarded skin,” Juice cringed at the memory. “It was disgusting. I scrubbed my skin until I bled just to get the feel of _its_ skin off me. I had to burn my clothes and my shoes.”

“One bad hunt shouldn’t define the whole profession for you,” Dean remarked with a put-upon sigh. “This hunt, Morton Mansion, it’s going to change the game for you. By the time we’re done, you’re gonna be begging me to bring you on more hunts.”

“Don’t count on it.” Juice had been on plenty of hunts with Dean over the years and he hadn’t liked any of them.

“What’s Sam doing while you all are off playing _Ghostbusters_?” Stiles asked, moving around the kitchen to stand next to his brother. “He end up going to Sioux Falls with Bobby for the week?”

“No, he’s going to be at your school, helping to find out who the kanima is,” Dean reported, drumming his fingers over the countertop. “He’ll be subbing in for your chem teacher. Oh, and protecting that Lydia girl. Derek thinks she’s the kanima.”

“Guess that means he ruled out Jackson Whittemore as a suspect,” Stiles reasoned, biting into his bottom lip. “How does Sam plan to get past Gerard?”

“Luckily, Gerard’s never met Sam, so we don’t have to worry about him thinking other hunters are poaching his territory. And Harris told Gerard that Sam – Mr. Wyatt—was his usual substitute, and the only one he can trust to do things the way he does. Gerard agreed to Sam on Harris’s word, didn’t even bother meeting Sam first.” Dean elaborated on how they had arranged to get Sam into Beacon Hills High without drawing suspicion from the school’s higher-ups. “Your dad helped too. He gave us the information we needed on Harris to put pressure on him.”

“What about Allison? She’s met Sam, she knows he’s a hunter,” Stiles noted the flaw in the Winchester’s scheme. “Lydia knows him as Sam Winchester, who took her to the winter formal. Scott’s well aware of who Sam is too. What’s to stop any of them from running off to tell Principal Argent?”

“Um,” Dean tilted his head to the side, mulling over the problem to find a solution. “You?”

“Damn it, Dean,” Juice socked the hunter’s arm. “What did I say? He doesn’t need new shit to deal with.”

“It’s fine, Juice,” Stiles said calmly, not perturbed by the new task. “I can try to run interference. I’ll tell Lydia that teaching is like a side gig he does for extra cash. ‘Winchester’ is pseudonym he got from his dad, who used it when writing that folklore book. Seeing as two fugitives with Winchester surnames were just killed, he thought it best to use his real last name, Wyatt, to avoid any confusion.”

“How fast you pull these lies out of your ass scares me a little,” Dean confessed, chortling mirthlessly. “What are you gonna do about Scott and Allison?”

“Nothing. The most I could do is tell them to keep their mouths shut, but they don’t listen to me.“ Stiles replied tersely. “Honestly, what could Gerard do if he learns Sam’s a hunter? Fire him? Call the cops and have my dad remove him from the premises? At worst, he could try to handle Sam himself or call Chris to do it, but Sam could take them. I’ll watch his back too, stick close between classes and at lunch.”

“I want you to text me between classes, let me know how things are going.” Jax urged his little brother, wrapping an arm around the teenagers shoulders. “And I’ll text you throughout the day so you know we’re fine. Okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded, letting his brother pull him close. “Be safe, okay? All of you need to get back in one piece.”

“We will.” Jax pressed a kiss to Stiles temple. “You too, okay? I don’t want to come back and hear you nearly drowned or were paralyzed by the kanima or threatened by a rival hunter. Just keep your head down until we get back.”

“I’m going to school, then I have classes at the community college, and when that’s done I’m gonna hang out with Dad at the station,” Stiles tried to put his brother at ease by going over his schedule for the day. “I’m not planning to get involved with kanima or hunter crap today, beyond helping Sam find out who the kanima is.”

“You have work today, too,” Juice knew that because he was technically on schedule to work at TM that afternoon as well. “Don’t forget that.”

“Nu-uh. I already called Gem and fixed that shit.” Stiles claimed, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes with a fist. “She keeps scheduling me to work after school, which is fine, I can make it work, just not on days when I have college classes too. On those days, I help dad at the station instead.”

“You’re keeping busy and out of trouble, that’s all that matters,” Jax acknowledged, sounding grateful that his brother had so many things to do. “All right, we gotta get going. Text me when you get to school.”

“I will.”

* * *

 

Having AP classes for first and second period gave Stiles two hours of peace and normality to start his school day before it all inevitably went to shit. Every class he had from third period on he shared with one or more of his ‘friends’. And the descent to madness began at the tail end of third period econ.

Thankfully, Finstock didn’t enforce assigned seating, which allowed Stiles to sit as far from Scott as he could. His former BFF spent the class alternating between flashing Stiles sad eyes and getting chatty with Jackson Whittemore. Stiles did his best to ignore the whispers throughout the hour.

“A quick warning before you leave,” Finstock started as he erased the contents of the chalkboard. “Some of you, like McCall, might want to start your own study groups, because Thursdays midterm is so profoundly difficult—I’m not even too sure I could pass it. You don’t study, you will fail. Now get out.”

Taking Finstock’s warning to heart, Stiles jotted down ‘midterm-econ’ at the top of his notes and circled it in red to signify its importance. A shadow in the form of Jackson Whittemore darkened his desk just as he was closing up his notebook and putting away his pen.

“Your friends with Derek,” Jackson stated matter-of-factly. “He and his lackeys grabbed me last night, gave me this slime stuff that paralyzed me from the neck down. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

“I’m familiar with the sensation,” It was not something Stiles ever wanted to experience again. “His methods may not be the most chivalrous, but it did rule you out as a kanima suspect. Congratulations, you get to live.”

“What is a kanima?” Jackson asked, shifting on his feet. “I asked Scott, but as usual he doesn’t know a damn thing. You’re the brains of the operation, right? I’m betting you’ve got some idea what a kanima is.”

“If the internet is to be believed, it’s a were-jaguar from South America,” Given it’s reptilian appearance, Stiles wasn’t inclined to believe it was feline. “It goes after murderers.”

“Derek and his posse think it’s Lydia,” Jackson reported, like he thought Stiles had the magical ability to call a ceasefire. “I heard Erica and Isaac talking in the hall. They want to kill her. They’re going to try something in chemistry.”

“They’re not going to hurt her. Not here, not today, not in chem.” Stiles declared certainly, shoving his notebook and binder into his backpack. “Derek won’t do anything without proof. Even if she is the kanima, he won’t kill her unless she tries to kill him first.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“He’s got anger issues, but he’s not stupid,” He had determined early on that Derek’s ‘kill, pussycat, kill, kill’, attitude was only posturing. “The Tin Man has a heart, a conscious. You want to worry about someone killing Lydia with little to no proof that she’s the kanima? Worry about the Argents snatching her off the street and torturing her in the preserve tunnels. That’s their M.O.”

“Lydia is Allison’s best friend,” Jackson reminded him, disbelief marring his features. “You really think Allison’s family would hurt her?”

“I think, if you care about Lydia at all, you will act as a physical barrier between her and that family,” Stiles advised his classmate, standing from the desk. “Because I promise you, if they suspect she is anything less than 100% human, they will shoot first and hope they were right second. You want to protect Lydia, do not leave her alone with Allison or Scott. Keep her close and keep your guard up.”

Stiles hitched his bag over his shoulder, letting the warning hang in the air. He waited for Jackson to give him a nod of understanding before he felt comfortable leaving the room. He didn’t fail to notice the heavy thump of footsteps following him, or the feel of eyes boring into the back of his skull as he trotted down the school hallway to the next class he and his wolfy tag-along shared: chemistry. He was pleased to see Mr. Harris’s replacement standing in front of the class, watching each student come enter the room.

“Um, Mr.—“ Stiles double-checked the name scrawled on the whiteboard, as to not blow Sam’s cover. “Mr. Wyatt, can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course,” Sam nodded, glancing over Stiles shoulder to the person standing behind him. “Mr. McCall, please take a seat.”

“But I…--” Scott’s argument was lost the moment Allison stepped into the room. “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Sam smiled cordially as Scott strolled to the table Allison was headed for. “What’s wrong, Stiles?”

“Isaac and Erica are going to try something with Lydia in this class,” Stiles subtly gestured to the betas standing at the back of the room. “They think she’s the kanima. They’re probably going to test her like they did Jackson.”

“Yeah, Derek said as much this morning.” Sam confirmed the alpha’s plan. “That’s why I’m here, to protect her if necessary.”

“Derek’s pack isn’t the only threat to Lydia,” They had a much bigger threat to worry about than a pack of unruly wolves. “I think Jackson spent econ telling Scott all of this. I guarantee Scott’s told Allison in the time I’ve been up here talking to you.”

“And you’re assuming she’ll tell her family,” Sam deduced easily. “Allison was working with you and Scott behind her family’s back to find the bestiary. You think she would put Lydia in danger by telling them she could be the kanima?”

“Would she tell them directly? No.” From what Stiles had seen, Allison genuinely cared for Lydia and wouldn’t want to see her harmed. “But her grandfather is the principal, and I’m pretty sure I saw her scary ass mother in another classroom. Oh, and if you hadn’t noticed, there are a shit-ton of high-tech security cameras in the halls, none of which were here last week. So Allison might not tell them out of her own free will, but her family will get it out of her one way or another.”

“We don’t actually know if Lydia is the kanima yet,” Sam stared at the redhead sitting in the front row. “We should let Erica and Isaac test her, so we know for sure.”

“You’re banking on Derek’s theory about the venom being correct,” Stiles wasn’t quite ready to believe that it was as full proof as the alpha seemed to think it was. “If it doesn’t work or if she’s not the kanima, then she’s going to be paralyzed in the middle of class. That’s going to raise a lot of questions and unwanted attention.”

“That’s a risk we’re gonna have to take,” Sam decided, taking Derek’s side on the matter. “Why don’t you go sit down, I still have a class to teach.”

“You’re going to have to reassign Lydia’s body guards to other seats,” Stiles nodded to Scott and Allison who were bracketing Lydia protectively. “I’ve got a cover story for you prepared, unless you want Lydia to ask why her winter formal date, Sam Winchester, is now a substitute teacher named Mr. Wyatt.”

“I already spoke to her about it this morning, when she spotted me in the parking lot.” Sam assured him they had nothing to worry about. “And everyone’s going to be switching stations frequently, so they won’t be sitting together for long.”

“Okay.” Constantly changing seats would give Isaac and Erica less of a chance to do more than test Lydia.

Stiles turned around and made his way toward an open station, the only one available happened to be one next to Scott, Allison, and Lydia’s table. Asking someone to swap so he could sit further away would draw attention to himself, so he reluctantly took the seat beside a classmate he’d never even spoken to before.

“Good afternoon, class,” Sam greeted the students warmly. “I’m Mr. Wyatt.”

“Stiles,” Scott reached across the aisle, grabbing the fabric of Stiles shirt and yanking him downward. “What is he doing here?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Stiles glowered, tugging his arm from the wolf’s grip. “You think I’m going to tell you the plan so you can run off and blab to the Argents? Think again.”

“Mr. Harris had a family emergency and had to take some time off,” Sam continued, despite the chatter around him. “I’ll be your substitute teacher for the next few days.”

“Hello, Mr. Wyatt,” Lydia offered her new teacher a coy smirk. “It is _very_ nice to see you again.”

“Y-Yes,” Sam stuttered, obviously put off by the girl. “It’s, uh, it’s very nice to see you again too, Ms. Martin.”

“Hey, teach, how about we get to the lesson part of this lesson, huh?” Stiles pointedly suggested, tapping his pencil against the table. “Didn’t Harris leave you one?”

“He did, actually. You are all going to combine efforts and work in pairs through a series of group experiments. You’ll do one step of an experiment then rotate stations to do another step with a different partner.” Sam went over the finer points of the assignment for the class. “Since there are so many of you and I’m not sure of your individual skill level, I am going to ask one of you to be my assistant for the hour, to keep everyone on task and such.”

“Oh, me! I’ll do it.” Lydia volunteered, her hand shooting into the air. “I have the highest grade in this class. If anyone is qualified to help, it’s me. I’ll be your assistant.”

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Ms. Martin, but I had someone else in mind,” Sam shut the redhead down gently and settled his gaze on his intended target. “Mr. Stilinski, Mr. Harris has it noted in his files that you are enrolled in an advanced chemistry class at the local college.”

“Uh, yeah.” If that information was noted in his file, it was only because it’d pissed Harris off. “What about it?”

“You must have done experiments like this before, so you know how it goes,” Sam acknowledged as he gathered stacks of papers off the desk. “You can help your fellow students if they get confused by the material. You can start by handing out the instructions.”

“Okay,” Stiles stood from his chair and accepted the bundle of papers. “Will do.”

“Okay, Ms. Reyes, you take the first station,” Sam patted the corner table in the front row. “You’ll start with Mr. McCall. At station two, we’ll have Ms. Argent and Ms. Martin.”

As Sam assigned partners, Stiles distributed the instruction sheets, setting two to each table. Pairing Scott with Erica, and Lydia with Allison was a strategic move, Stiles would give Sam props for that. The problem was, Isaac was left unattended, and while Stiles couldn’t partner up with him, he could still keep him in line.

“We’re going to let you test Lydia with the kanima venom, but that is all we are going to let you do.” Stiles said firmly, slapping an instruction sheet in front of the beta. “Try anything more and our substitute teacher will turn your werewolf ass into a fur coat and give it to Lydia as her birthday present.”

“Really?” Isaac scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’ve never actually been to one of her big, invite-only birthday parties. I did ask her out once, though.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a heartfelt story.” Stiles would rather have his organs ripped out with a rusty spoon than listen to it. “I’m gonna pass, thanks.”

“It was the first day of freshman year—“

“And you thought everything was gonna be different for you in high school,” Rookie mistake. Shit didn’t change in high school, not for anyone. It all stayed the same or got worse. The ‘it gets better’ spiel was a load of bullshit. “But she said no.”

“Yeah. Yeah, she even laughed.” Isaac sneered, glaring at the back of Lydia’s head. “Told me to come back when the bike I rode to school had an engine.”

“Unrequited loves a bitch,” Stiles had a little experience in that area himself. “Maybe you should write about it in English class, you know? Channel all that negative energy.”

“Nah, I was thinking I’d channel it into killing her,” Isaac retorted in his usual cocky manner. “I’m not very good at writing.”

“Okay, the first step should be complete. Switch stations,” Sam instructed the class. “Complete step two with your new partner.”

Isaac purposely bumped into Stiles as he moved to his next designated station, where Lydia sat. Stiles cursed under his breath and quickly returned to Sam’s side.

“Whatever the pups have planned, chances are it’s going down now or within the next few minutes,” He warned the hunter. “Isaac’s in a prime position to do whatever he wants to Lydia. He knows Scott isn’t a threat. And Erica has Allison…distracted.”

Erica and Allison had somehow ended up at a station together. Allison, for her part, was trying to focus on the assignment, which probably wasn’t easy with Erica invading her personal space. The she-wolf leaned deliberately close to the huntress, sliding her hand up Allison’s thigh, and whispering into her ear.

“Ms. Reyes,” Sam snapped at the girl. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Oh, yes sir.” Erica drawled, smacking her hands on top of the table with a reverberating thud.

“So, why did you make me your assistant?” Not that Stiles was complaining, he just thought it was unnecessary. “You seem to have things under control.”

“My first two classes were rowdy, and there’s too much at stake in this one to let it get out of hand.” Sam replied, keeping a steady eye on the students. “I need another set of eyes and you’re the only one I trust.”

“I’m flattered.” Stiles wished he could say the same about Sam but full-blown trust had never entered the picture between them. “You know, if Lydia isn’t the kanima, they’re might be something else wrong with her.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She’s been having these weird episodes,” Stiles wasn’t entirely sure how to classify them, but he was certain they were side effect of the bite Peter Hale had inflicted on her. “This probably isn’t the right time to discuss it. I’ll come find you at lunch and we can talk about it.”

“By then we should know if she is or isn’t a homicidal were-lizard,” Sam looked down at his watch and clapped his hands together loudly to silence the room. “That’s time, everybody. If you have catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now have a crystal. For the last part of this experiment, you can eat it.”

“If you just have a pile of goop, don’t eat it,” Stiles added, noting a good number of cylinders around the room held nothing close to what Sam described. “It probably can’t harm you, but let’s not take the risk.”

“Excellent point, Mr. Stilinski,” Sam praised his words of caution. “Only eat your experiment if it has crystallized.”

“What if it’s a crystal, but still has goop?” Lydia asked, holding up a crystal that had a thick, clear substance coating the top of it. “Can I eat it or not?”

“Um, yeah,” Sam nodded, inspecting the experiment from a distance. “You can still eat that.”

“That goop is kanima venom,” Stiles murmured lowly to Sam. “Shit’s going down.”

“Mr. Wyatt,” Lydia clacked her manicured nails on the table. “Eat it like this?”

The redhead pinned the hunter with a come-hither look as she brought the crystal to her lips. Of course, she couldn’t just shove it in her mouth and start chewing, that would be far too raunchy and distasteful for someone so delicate and poised. Lydia Martin had to make a provocative show of it, suckling it between her lips and swirling her tongue around it, her eyes never straying from Sam’s.

“Someone’s hot for teacher,” Stiles whistled, covering his eyes to block out the sight. “Should I be apologizing for making you go to the dance with her?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Sam said in a rush, his face flushing red with embarrassment. “How long did it take for the venom to take effect on you?”

“Half a minute, maybe.” He had absorbed the venom through his skin, it took a moment to really enter his system. “She’s ingested it. It should be working.”

“It’s taking too long. It’s not working.” Sam took a deep, calming breath. “If she’s immune to the venom, it could mean—“

“She’s the kanima.”

* * *

 

“I’ll give you a chance to look over these,” A pretty, dark-haired waitress set a menu in front of each of them. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”

“Thanks,” Dean didn’t bother browsing the menu, he already knew what he was getting. “Where’d Juice run off to? He didn’t want to eat?”

“He didn’t want diner food. He walked to the little supermarket down the street,” Jax motioned out to the window facing the general direction Juice had gone. “He wanted something more nutritious, I guess. And I don’t think he was comfortable being a third wheel.”

“Oh, so this is like a date.” And here Dean thought it was only a simple lunch. “If I had known that I would have taken you somewhere nicer.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” Jax called bullshit. “You wouldn’t have had to. I’m a simple guy. I like these little diners. I know you know which ones serve the best burgers all over the country.”

“Damn right I do.” He made a point to eat a bacon cheeseburger at every diner he went to so he could find the perfect one. He had yet to find perfection, but he enjoyed searching for it. “The smaller the town, the better the burger.”

“You should make a list.”

“Of the best burger joints?”

“The best burger joints you’ve gone to, your favorite tourist traps, stuff like that.” Jax shrugged, sliding the complimentary glass of water closer to him. “You grew up on the road, you got to see all the cool stuff most people passed right by.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Tourist traps were like a Winchester trip to the park, the visited local ones every weekend. It was one of the few ways their dad made life on the road fun.

“Make a list of all the fun places you’ve been, cool things you’ve seen, and when Abel’s out of the hospital, we’ll take him to visit them.” Jax grinned excitedly. “Not all at once. We’ll spread it out. Maybe two or three trips every summer. We’ll take the Impala. It’ll be like a family road trip.”

“Jax—“

“I know your entire childhood was like a long, kinda fucked up, family road trip, but I’ve never really been on one. Locking Gem and JT in a car together for an extended period of time was just asking for trouble.” Grief clouded Jax’s features at the mention of his father. “But you and me, we’re good on road trips. The three of us, you, me, and Abel, we could have an awesome time. What do you think?”

“It sounds great, Jax. I would love that. I would love to have an annual summer road trip with you and Abel.” He could already picture it in his mind.

They would take scenic routes, so they would have something nice to look at when they pulled off to the side of the road to walk-and-rock with Abel when he got fussy. They would stop at gift shops in questionably named towns to purchase novelty items for their friends and family. They’d have gas station donuts for breakfast, sit down at a quiet diner for lunch, and have a picnic on the hood of the Impala for dinner. When Abel was older, Dean would sit him on his lap behind the wheel and teach him to drive while Jax stretched out in the passenger seat. It was nice to think about, in theory.

In reality, it was just a dream that would never come to pass. In reality, Jax would be taking those trips with Abel as a single father, not as a family that included Dean. They wouldn’t be crisscrossing the country in the Impala, as Dean had as a child, Jax would probably drive a ratty, old pick-up, if he took the trips at all. That list of Dean’s favorite spots would be delivered to Jax posthumously at Dean’s request, with the hope that he would follow it and share Dean’s memories with the son he wanted them to raise together. That was the reality Jax had to look forward to and he needed to know that.

“Jackson,” Dean steeled his resolve, prepared to let Jax in on the secret he’d been keeping. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Okay,” Jax cocked his head curiously. “What is it?”

“I, um,” Dean’s struggle to find the right words was interrupted when Jax’s phone began to vibrate on the table. “You should, uh, you should probably get that.”

“Yeah,” Jax took the device into his hands, checking the caller ID. “It’s Mom. It could be about Abel.”

“Answer it.”

“It’s kind of loud in here. I’m gonna take it outside. I’ll be right back.” Jax slid out of the booth, flipping open his phone and bringing it to his ear as he went. “What’s up, Mom?”

Dean breathed a long sigh of relief as Jax sidled out of the diner. He was choosing to take the interruption as a sign that he shouldn’t tell Jax about the demon deal and his impending death. He was grasping at straws, he knew that, looking for the smallest reason not to have that conversation. Here, now, it was just the wrong place and the wrong time.

* * *

 

By the time lunch rolled around, Stiles was ready to ditch or feign sick so he could go home. The only reason he didn’t was because there was a threat of imminent death hanging over one of his classmates that could be carried by another classmate, under the order of one of Stiles allies. Therefore, logic and/or certain social constructs dictated he held some responsibility just by knowing about it, and could not just bow out. He had to stay and tough it out, or risk being labeled part of the problem for his lack of action.

However, toughing it out didn’t mean he had to be glued to the prospective victims side for every second of the school day. He actually took great care to avoid her and her protection detail when they weren’t in class together. Instead of joining them in the cafeteria for lunch, he’d taken his vending machine meal of chips and soda, and slinked off to the chemistry room to chill with Sam for the duration of the break.

“So what were you trying to tell me earlier?” Sam asked as he poured a generous amount of dressing on his store-bought salad. “Lydia’s been having episodes of some kind?”

“Yeah. I mean, you remember after Peter bit her, she went into that fugue state, ending up wandering around the preserve, naked, for two days,” Lydia’s instability had been the talk of the town, a nice piece of gossip no one would be letting go of any time soon. “There are two other instances that I know of, where she’s sort of checked out or gone off the rails a bit.”

“What happened?”

“We all went to the ice rink a few weeks ago, Lydia, me, Allison, and Scott. It was after hours, so it was just us. Everything was fine, we were doing loops around the rink, and her entire demeanor just shifted. She skated to the middle of the rink, got to her knees, swept her hands across the ice, and then she just started screaming.” It was a loud, blood-curdling screech that Stiles was sure could wake the dead. “We all rushed over, but nothing was there. She wouldn’t tell us what she saw or why she was screaming. She just wanted to go home.”

“Yeah, that’s a little…strange,” Sam’s face twisted in concern. “You said there were two instances, what’s the other one?”

“Today in econ, Finstock asked her to solve a problem on the board, and instead she started writing what looked like gibberish. It was the same thing, over and over again. I took a picture of it,” He pulled the photo up on his phone and handed it off to the hunter. “You flip it around using the mirror image thing and you see what it really says.”

“ _’Someone help me_ ,’” Sam read the words off the chalkboard in the photograph. “Was she aware of what she had done or...?”

“She had no idea. It really freaked her out when she saw it.” Stiles had felt bad for her when he’d seen the panic set in, although it didn’t last long. “She recovered quickly enough. We had your class next and she seemed like herself in it.”

“According to Dean, you were on a research binge last night,” Sam acknowledged cautiously. “Did you find anything on kanima’s and decreased mental states, hallucinations, anything?”

“I appreciate your use of the term ‘research binge,’ it makes me feel less crazy and more like I did it all on purpose.” Stiles had just been overloaded with all the shit going on, his brain had pretty much short-circuited trying to process it all. “I don’t think I found anything like that, but honestly, I was working on so many things at once, I couldn’t pinpoint anything specific. I can look through it all tonight when I get home, see if there’s anything useful.”

“I can go through it with you,” Sam offered, unaware of the night of deciphering hell he was signing himself up for. “That way you can focus on your homework.”

“Did my grades drop without me knowing it?” Stiles was usually good about getting his homework turned in and keeping his grades up, no matter what was going on. It was the one thing he actually had control over. “I’ve had straight A’s all year. My GPA is the second highest in the school. If that’s changed—“

“No, no, Stiles, your grades are great, so is your GPA from what I saw on your transcripts,” Sam gestured to Harris’s computer, presumably where he’d accessed Stiles school file. “With how well you’re doing and the credits you’re earning from the community college, you’re in line for early graduation.”

“Yeah, I know.” If he attended BHCC full time over the summer, he would have enough credits to graduate at the end of the first semester during junior year. “Early graduation is the plan, it always has been.”

“Have you looked into early admission to any of the universities you want to go to?” Sam questioned, perking up considerably at the topic of colleges. “This time next year you could be having late night cram sessions in the library at Yale or getting sexiled from your dorm by an annoying roommate at Stanford.”

“Cramming at Berkeley, sexiled at George Washington University. They’re the only two I would really consider,” He did plan to apply to more than just two schools, he had to, they were just the ones he would really want to go to if that were at all possible, which it wasn’t. “And no, I haven’t applied for early admission anywhere.”

“Why not?” Sam furrowed his brows. “I don’t think you’d have a problem getting into either of those schools.”

“Whether I get in or not is irrelevant,” Accepted or rejected, in the end they’d just be letters stuffed in a box full of other what-could-have-beens. “I can’t actually go to Berkeley or GW.”

“Why? You can’t afford it? Get a scholarship,” Sam made it all seem so simple and easy. “That’s what I did.”

“I can’t leave Jax,” Stiles would do a number of things to ensure his future, but leaving his big brother behind wasn’t one of them. “Those schools are too far away, most good universities are.”

“GW is in Washington D.C., but Berkeley’s only a few hours—“

“That’s too far,” Realistically, Berkeley had a shorter commute time from Charming than Beacon Hills did, but was also further away from Beacon Hills than Charming. Berkeley would put him closer to Jax, but further from his father and that was unacceptable. “It doesn’t matter what school I go to, it’s all the same education that will be taking me down the same career path. I’m not going to leave my family just so I can put a high profile, socially admirable university on my resume.”

“It’s not the same education. A better university can open a lot of doors for you. I know you have your heart set on following your dad’s footsteps, but you don’t have to do that, you can be so much more. A good college is just the beginning.” Sam sounded like an exasperated guidance counselor trying to rein in a rebellious student. “I know the idea of leaving your dad and brother is scary. It’s a hard thing to do, it really is. I should know, I’ve done it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not you. I’m not going to abandon my family just because I can.” Stiles ground out through clenched teeth, hastily looking away to avoid Sam’s hurt expression. He turned his gaze to the window, spying a lone figure staring back at him from the parking lot. “Did you know Derek’s lurking outside?”

“He’s been there all day,” Sam brushed off the alpha’s presence. “He was waiting for Isaac and Erica to test Lydia with the kanima venom. Now that they have, I think they’re waiting until the end of the school day to grab her.”

“How courteous of them,” It was awfully nice of them to let everyone finish their classes before they went to battle, gave the illusion that they’d all survive to continue on their education later. “Derek won’t kill Lydia. He doesn’t have it in him. The pups are who we need to be worried about.”

“I know, but we can’t just snatch Lydia out from under them. If they think we’re getting between them and their alpha’s orders, it could very well set them off,” Sam remarked sourly. “They’re still new to all this. We can’t risk them losing control and hurting someone. We have to tread carefully here.”

“Well, if you’ve got a plan, I’m all ears.”

“When they leave the school, they’ll be tracking Lydia, looking for an opportunity to grab her. We’ll follow them.” Sam decided. “We’ll observe. We won’t intervene unless they try to hurt her. Once they get her to Derek, we’ll talk to him, reason with him.”

“That plan only works if they manage to grab her,” From what Stiles had witnessed, the trio of betas didn’t exactly work like a well-oiled machine, they just showed up and wreaked havoc. “Lydia has Scott, Allison, and Jackson watching her back. None of them are adept fighters, but neither are Erica or Isaac. Any attempt to grab her will erupt into chaos and violence. She could easily be caught in the crossfire.”

“Derek seems to be keeping a close eye on Erica and Isaac, and I think I saw his other beta out there with him earlier,” Sam nodded toward the window, to Derek. “He’ll be with them for the grab. We can intervene before they touch her.”

“Your faith in your own ability to convince someone to do something is astounding.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

* * *

 

It was late in the afternoon when they parked across the street from Morton Mansion to scope the place out. Normally, they wouldn’t bother, but seeing as the property was surrounded by a tall, chain-link fence with barbed wire lining the top, a certain amount of reconnaissance was needed to determine how they would even get into the house.

“We could cut a hole in the fence,” Juice advocated for making their own entry point. “Judging by the graffiti and discarded beer cans, I’m guessing some teenagers have already done that.”

“We’ll go in at nightfall,” Dean wanted to avoid the prying eyes of nosy neighbors. “Go through the back door.”

“So what’s the deal with this place anyway?” Jax asked, realizing Dean had given them little to no information outside its location. “You haven’t said much about it.”

“This house becomes the most haunted place in America for one night, every four years.” Dena picked up the bundle of papers scattered on the seat between he and Jax. “There are a ton of missing person cases linked to it, but no bodies to go with them.”

“What do you think is causing it?”

“Vengeful spirit, most likely,” Dean theorized absently. “The last person actually found dead in this house was the owner, Daggett something. It could be him.”

“So we salt and burn his bones,” Juice determined. “Unless he was cremated.”

“His bones were salted and burned years ago, by the last hunters who tried to figure out what the hell was going on in this place,” Dean grumbled, scowling at the house. “Vengeful spirits can become attached to anything, not just their bones. A lock of their hair, an object they favored, even their own home can be enough to keep them here.”

“So we burn the house down,” Jax was totally down for that, it was efficient and took a minimal amount of effort. “Problem solved.”

“No, we are not burning the house down. We don’t know for sure if it’s a vengeful spirit, and if it’s not, the house could be trapping whatever it is in there. Burning the house down could unleash it on the world.” Dean shot down the reckless plan, swiftly and effectively. “And arson is frowned upon in most circles.”

“Oh, fine,” Jax pouted and slumped down in his seat like a petulant child. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Hey, Dean, can I look at all that?” Juice leaned forward from the backseat, making grabby hands at the research Dean held. “We got a little while till sunset. I’d like a better idea of what I’m walking into.”

“Knock yourself out,” Dean relinquished the papers to the younger man. “Maybe you’ll find something Sam and I missed.”

“Maybe.”

* * *

 

Instead of heading to BHCC after his last class at BHHS, Stiles spent the afternoon tracking the resident alpha werewolf while Sam followed the betas. It was well after dark when they all converged on the McCall house, parking two houses down to prevent the homes occupants from seeing them, or so Stiles thought. He was proven wrong the moment Derek and the pups got out of their respective vehicle.

They didn’t keep to the shadows or sneak around the house to find a way in. They stood smack-dab in the middle of street, in a neat line, directly in front of the McCall residence, in full view of anyone who happened to be inside. It was a show of force, more of the posturing that everyone seemed to enjoy so much.

“This is why they will lose the war,” Stiles murmured to himself, pushing open the driver’s side door. “Drama queens with no self-preservation instincts whatsoever.”

He shook his head and climbed out of the Jeep, slamming the door shut loud enough to announce his presence, and trudging up the block to meet with the sorry excuse for a pack.

“I hope you’re happy. I had to reschedule two exams today so I could tail you.” Stiles addressed the alpha, ignoring the betas entirely. “I had to beg my professors to let me take them tomorrow. I do not like begging anyone for anything.”

“You should have taken your tests instead of following me like a lost dog,” Derek retorted, his eyes trained on the house. “You’re not needed here.”

“You’re probably right about that,” After all, Stiles was merely a puny human in this fight. “But since I’m here, maybe you can explain your thought process to me. Aside from the venom test, why are you so sure Lydia is the kanima?”

“She was bitten by an alpha,” It was hard to argue with that logic when Derek had obviously put a lot of thought into it. “It’s her.”

“Your puppies were bitten by an alpha, you,” Stiles looked down the line of unstable, supernaturally inclined teenagers. “They are werewolves, like the shifter who turned them. It stands to reason Lydia would be the same, if she were anything at all.”

“Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are,” Derek explained, stroking the five-o’clock shadow of scruff on his jaw. “It’s rare, but it happens.”

“Couldn’t she be immune?” Immunity could be a thing, right? “Maybe that's why she never turned or rejected the bite.”

“I’ve never seen or heard of anyone being immune. It’s never happened.” Derek dismissed the theory without so much as a consideration. “She’s the kanima, she has to be.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just kill her,” Especially when they were still just guessing. “You’re the alpha. You are not judge, jury, and executioner.”

“Should we turn her into your dad instead? Have her tried in a court of law? She can shift into her lizard form and paralyze her attorney as exhibit one.” Derek sneered scornfully. “She’s killing people, we have to put her down. That is the way things have to be, unless you want to reveal the supernatural to the public.”

“If she is the kanima, she’s killing people. _If_.” That wasn’t as big an ‘if’ as Stiles would like, but it was still an ‘if’ nonetheless. “You know, killing without evidence of a crime is a very Argent way of doing things. They are happy to murder any shifter on the off chance that they might kill someone at some point. Shifters like your family.”

Derek staggered on his feet, reeling back at the apparent comparison between him and the people who made him an orphan. The wolves at his sides turned their glowing eyes and extended claws on Stiles, prepared to defend their alpha’s honor. Stiles didn’t falter at the intimidation tactic, refusing to give them what they wanted by cowering away in fear.

“Hey, hey!” Sam shouted, jogging over from where he’d taken point in his burrowed car. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Stiles held up his hands and stepped back, choosing to be the bigger man. “Just putting things in perspective.”

“We’re here to find a workable solution to the kanima problem,” Sam reminded them, placing himself firmly between Stiles and the wolves. “Not to fight with each other.”

“We have a workable solution to the problem,” Erica showed off her fangs in a toothy grin. “We kill her.”

“We are not killing her,” Sam bristled at the very idea. “We all want the same thing—to prevent the kanima from hurting anyone else. We do not have to kill it to do that.”

“You’re as naïve as Scott.” Derek spit at the hunter, curling his lips with contempt.

“Nobody is as naïve as Scott,” While Stiles believed Sam was a little too trusting, the last thing he was, was naïve. “Sam is right about this. Executing the kanima is not the only option on the table.”

“Do you want to capture her?” Boyd questioned with honest interest. “That didn’t work out well for Derek when the Argents took him.”

“He’s breathing,” Stiles clapped a fist to Derek’s chest to prove it. “The Argents torture, we wouldn’t do that. We can capture, assess, and try to rehabilitate.”

“The only reason we’d capture her would be to kill her at a separate location,” Derek remarked as he sniffed the air. “Scott’s here.”

“He must have gone in through the back,” Isaac reasoned, glowering at Stiles. “While his best friend distracted us.”

“Shove it up your ass, Lahey,” Stiles didn’t have the patience for childish accusations. “Don’t blame me because your ‘enhanced’ senses aren’t up to par.”

“Isaac, Erica, go into the house,” Derek doled out orders to his pack members. “Get Lydia. Boyd and I will stay out here in case someone makes it past you.”

“She won’t make it past us.” Erica declared confidently.

“Sam, breach the house,” Stiles instructed his hunter friend. “Make sure our friendly neighborhood wolves don’t hurt anyone or get what they came for. I’ll do that same out here.”

“Yep.”

The two betas and singular hunter made a break for the house, Isaac and Erica taking opposite sides of the house, looking for a window to enter through. Sam went with the more straightforward approach, the front door.

“So that’s your play in this,” Derek chuckled darkly. “To command the hunters on your side of battlefield.”

“At least my hunters are fully trained, which is more than I can say for your pups.” Stiles winked at Boyd, who stood vigilantly at his alpha’s side. “I don’t want to command anyone, Derek. It’s not my style. I just can’t get on board with killing someone who could be innocent.”

“She failed the venom test. How much more proof do you need?” Derek’s growing frustration with Stiles stance in all this was clearly visible in the red that was beginning to tint his eyes. “Would her shifting into the kanima form be enough for you? Or does she need to rip someone apart in front of you for you to get it?”

“Shifting will do just fine,” Stiles didn’t need bloodshed to believe Lydia was the kanima, just a few reptilian scales would do. “That would prove to me she’s the kanima.”

“But you still wouldn’t approve of putting her down.”

“I didn’t realize you were looking for my approval,” Stiles couldn’t decide if that was adorable or pathetic, possibly both. “If Lydia is the kanima, she might not even be aware of what she’s doing, Derek. So no, seeing her shift wouldn’t be enough to sign her death warrant. There is more to all this than meets that eye. It isn’t all black and white.”

“I understand that better than anyone,” The alpha claimed, although his recent actions couldn’t really back it up. “But it’s not as simple as just capturing her when we have no way of containing her.”

“We’ll find a way to hold the kanima while we determine how to proceed.” If they put their heads together, Stiles was sure they could find a solution that didn’t end with death. “Killing the kanima is the easy solution, it is not the only one, stop acting like it is.”

Stiles and Derek’s arguments of right vs. wrong was rudely interrupted by Isaac landing in a heap at their feet, having been hurled off the porch by Scott. Erica and Sam followed suit, thrown out like garbage with no regards for their wellbeing.

“Oh, Sammy,” Stiles cast an unimpressed glance at the hunter. “You know what Dean would say if he saw you get tossed on your ass by a baby werewolf?”

“He wouldn’t say anything,” Sam grunted, pulling himself up off the ground. “He’d laugh in my face, and then shoot Scott.”

“Yeah, probably,” That did sound like a Dean thing to do. “I’d laugh in your face too, but it’s hard to find any of this funny. How many were in the house?”

“Four. Lydia, Jackson, Scott, and Allison,” Sam relayed, brushing the dirt off his jeans. “Allison got a hold of the kanima venom somehow; she used it on Erica and Isaac. Scott dealt with me himself. Lydia and Jackson were hunkered down in another room.”

“This is over, Derek,” Scott bellowed from the porch, Allison and Lydia at his side. “Now maybe I can’t beat you, but I can hold you off until the cops get here.”

“The cops are on my side,” Stiles pointed out, in case anyone forgot that his dad was the sheriff. “Why don’t you let me take Lyd—the suspect into the station, where she’ll be safe, and no one else will get hurt.”

“Lydia is not going anywhere with any of you,” Allison raised her mini-crossbow, aiming it squarely at Derek’s chest, as if he were the one trying to negotiate terms. “She stays with me and Scott.”

“Me? What do you want with me?” Lydia cried out, confusion and fear bringing tears to her eyes. “Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Uh, t-that’s the thing,” Boyd stuttered, taking a cautionary step behind his alpha. “That’s the kanima, right?”

Stiles and Derek tracked Boyd’s line of sight to the second level of the McCall House. The lizard-man crawled along the exterior, hissing loudly. Stiles eyes darted back to the kids on the porch, all of whom were gawking at the creature. Well, most of them were anyway.

“Scott, Lydia, Allison,” There was one duckling missing by Stiles calculations. “Jackson. It’s Jackson.”

“It can’t be.” Derek growled, baring his teeth in the kanima’s direction. “I tested him.”

“Your test is faulty,” Just as Stiles had suspected it was all along. “Process of elimination. Jackson was in the house, now he’s unaccounted for.”

“He’s on the move,” Sam gulped, watching the kanima leap from the house and bolt down the street. “We can’t let it get away!”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” Stiles resisted the urge to pop the hunter for stating the obvious. “Boyd, grab your paralyzed pack members and take them back to the subway car, they’re out of commission for the night.”

“Yeah,” Boyd didn’t hesitate, didn’t look to his alpha for different orders, just scooped up Isaac and Erica, tossing them over his shoulders. “I’ll protect them.”

“You three,” Stiles waved a hand to Scott, Allison, and Lydia, all standing dumbfounded on the porch. “Go back in the house, lock the doors and windows, and stay inside.”

“No,” Scott shook his head. “Nothing’s changed. I’m not going to let Derek or Sam kill the kanima, kill Jackson.”

“Then stay out of our way.” Stiles wouldn’t waste time arguing uselessly. “Derek, go on foot. Sam and I will take the cars.”

“Don’t want to command anyone my ass.” Derek muttered under his breath as he took off down the street after the lizard.

“I heard that, Hale!” Stiles shouted after the alpha before noticing Sam remained stationary at his side. “Didn’t I tell you to get in a car?”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re kind of bossy?”

“Nope.” He wasn’t bossy, he was just insistent that people do what he asks of them. “You wanna tell me why the wolf pack with an attitude problem, alpha included, falls in line without question but you’re still standing here instead of doing what I told you to do?”

“Relax, I’m going.”

* * *

 

Breaking into Morton Mansion was much easier than expected. The disillusioned youth who had trespassed on the property over the years had left them a clear path through the damaged fence and broken back window that led to an old kitchen. Of course, if something seemed too easy, there was always going to be something on the other end of it to balance the scales, make it harder, so Jax was certain things would take a turn sooner or later.

“What exactly are we looking for here? Confirmation that it’s a vengeful spirit?” Jax was hoping they could get things done quickly and get back on the road, the less time they spent away from home the better. “Or are we just burning this mother to the ground and calling it a day?”

“For the last time, we are not burning the house down. And just so you don’t get any ideas,” Dean reached his hand into the front pocket of Jax’s pants, removing his lighter. “Seriously, you two need to get off arson train. We talked about this.”

“Yeah, yeah. Burning down the house could release the spirit not vanquish it. Blah, blah, blah. We get it.” Juice repeated Dean’s earlier words in a mocking tone as he handed over his own lighter without prompting. “Wouldn’t want you to stick your hand in my pants to grab it.”

“You’d be lucky to have my hand in your pants,” Dean claimed smugly. “For any reason.”

“More like traumatized.” Juice quipped with a straight face. “I already told you, you aren’t my type.”

 _“This is spooky, man,”_ An unfamiliar voice sounded from an adjacent room. _“This place….”_

“Well, I think it’s safe to say we’re not alone in the house,” Dean muttered, raising his flashlight as they rounded the corner to confront the strangers. “Freeze! Police officers! Don’t move!”

The two strange men, both donning headlamps, practically jumped out of their skin at their sudden appearance, shrieking loudly in fright.

“All right, all right. Take it easy.” Jax stepped in to calm the wailing duo. “Let’s see some identification. I.D.’s, now. Come on.”

“What?” The younger, twitchy, increasingly nervous member of the team gasped. “Are we under—under arrest?”

“We are unarmed,” The other man announced, raising his hands in the air. “We have no weapons of any kind.”

“Oh, god,” Twitchy trembled as he handed over his driver’s license. “Oh, god. I can’t go to jail.”

“Want to explain that weirdo outfit, Mr., uh,” Dean glanced at Twitchy’s I.D. for the correct name. “Corbett?”

“I know you,” Twitchy’s counter-part narrowed his eyes at the hunter. “Yeah, I know you.”

“Yeah, sure you do,” Dean scoffed, giving the guy a quick once-over, groaning when he matched the face with a person from his past. “Ah, fuck me. West Texas. Sam and me were hunting a tulpa. You goofballs almost got us killed. Called yourselves Hellhounds or something.”

“Yeah, we’re not Hellhounds anymore, okay?” The goofball dismissed the name. “It didn’t test well.”

“Ed,” Corbett tugged on the former Hellhounds shirtsleeve like a small child. “What’s going on?”

“They’re not cops, buddy,” Ed broke the news to his associate, patting his arm consolingly. “No, not at all.”

“Ed, Ed,” Dean snapped his fingers in the other man’s face. “You had a partner too, didn’t you? A different guy?”

“Yeah, so did you,” Ed not-so subtly scrutinized Jax and Juice. “Guess you needed two to replace the goliath that was with you before.”

“Your partner, Ed,” Dean struggled to remain patient when addressing the man. “Is he around here somewhere?”

“Harry? Yeah. He’s running around,” Ed waved a hand toward the staircase. “Chasing ghosts.”

“Okay, well, listen, you and Rambo,” Dean thumped the headlamp on Corbett’s forehead. “Need to get your girlfriends and get out of here.”

“All right. Listen here, chisel chest, okay,” Ed squared his shoulders and lifted his chin defiantly. “We were here first. We already set up base camp. We beat you.”

“You were here first,” Dean snorted derisively, looking his shoulder to Jax and Juice. “They were here first.”

“Then I guess we should pack it in and go home. They’ve got dibs,” Juice noted patronizingly. “Simple kindergarten logic, hunting is just a really advanced version of hide and seek.”

“What are you doing in Morton house, Ed?” Dean asked, a disapproving lit in his tone. “What are you thinking, huh? On tonight of all nights….”

“We’re here to spend the night, okay?” Ed replied proudly, as if it were some grand achievement. “It’s for our TV show, _Ghostfacers_.”

“Yeah,” Corbett nodded along, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. “Nobody’s ever spent the night before.”

“Uh, actually, yeah, they have.” Jax got a little kick out of bursting their bubble. “It’s just no one’s ever lived to talk about it.”

“The missing persons reports go back almost half a century. Take a look,” Juice took the fliers out of their pack and handed them off to the ‘Ghostfacers’. “John Graham stayed on a dare, he’s gone. Julie Wilkerson’s gone too. There are a ton of these. All of them came to just stay the night, always on this day. The only body ever found was the last owner, Freeman Daggett.”

“These look legit,” Ed commented, shuffling through the stack of reports. “Huh.”

“They are legit. Look, Ed, we don’t have a lot of time here, man,” There was a limit to how long they could stay in the house before they ended up missing persons. “Starting at midnight, we’ll all be trapped in here, and you and your friends are going to start dying.”

“Jax, honey, you probably could have phrased that better, like in a way that wouldn’t make it sound like we would be the ones murdering them,” Dean’s critique was downed out by a series of screams erupting from the second floor. “Oh great. What now?”

The screeches only grew louder as a young couple barreled down the steps, followed by an equally terrified cameraman hot on their heels.

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Guys! Guys! We got one! Corbett,” One of the new arrivals grabbed Corbett by the shoulders, giving him a hearty shake. “We saw one! We saw one! It was a full on apparition! It was like a class four! It was spectral illumination!”

“All right, now that we’ve got Harry and the rest of the nerd brigade, we can all get the hell out of here,” Dean tried and failed to guide the Ghostfacers to the front door. “Come on, come on. We’ll get you ice cream—our treat. What do you say? Let’s go.”

“Yeah, I say no,” Harry turned his back on the hunter, facing the Asian girl who had accompanied him down the steps. “Maggie, show them what we got.”

“Look at this,” Maggie urged everyone over to the computer station set up on the far side of the room. “Ed, Ed, you have to see this. Okay, we have honest-to-god proof, all right?”

The young woman clicked on a video file to give them a visual of what they’d experienced on the second floor. Surprisingly enough, the footage did show an apparition, a man dressed like a gangster from the ‘20s. He appeared to be trying to talk down an unseen third party, before his body was riddled with bullets and he vanished into thin air.

“Are you kidding?” Ed’s eyes widened in shock. “Holy crap.”

“Yeah, no, not kidding. We got a 10.9 reading on the EMF, almost 11.” Harry bubbled gleefully. “I came out, and I was like ‘what’s going on?’ And when he got blasted? Oh, dude, it was crazy.”

“You two,” Dean knocked a foot against Jax’s sneaker and Juice’s boot. “Over here.”

“I know I’m not the hunter here, but I don’t think that was a vengeful spirit,” Juice acknowledged as they followed Dean to a quiet corner, away from the outsiders. “Were we wrong?”

“That was just a death echo,” Dean pursed his lips. “Juice, you looked over all the research in the car. Did anyone get shot here?”

“Nope.”

“What’s a death echo?” The cameraman questioned, invading their personal space to film. “I’m Spruce, by the way.”

“Echoes are trapped in a loop, okay? They keep replaying how they died over and over and over again, usually in the place where they were ganked.” Dean explained, pushing the camera out of his face. “It’s about as dangerous as a scary movie.”

“The echo’s not dangerous, but something here is,” If the echo’s were harmless, Jax assumed that meant someone or something else had been snatching people up over the years. “The missing persons reports confirm that.”

“You’re right,” Dean nodded his head vigorously. “All right, we need to get out of here, guys. Come on. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go. Pack it up.”

“Yeah, it’s almost midnight.” Juice tapped the watch on his wrist. “We gotta go. Now.”

“What about our equipment?” Maggie dug in her heels, refusing to be ushered from the premises without taking what they’d come in with. “What are we gonna—“

“We got more material. We got all kinds of stuff.” Harry blatantly ignored the urgency of the situation. “We’ll make you recurring guest stars.”

“Wait! Wait!” Ed flailed his arms out wildly, stopping everyone in their tracks. “Where’s Corbett?”

* * *

 

To say all hell had broken look when the kanima bolted from the McCall house would be a gross understatement. The lizard went one way and anyone chasing after it scattered in every other direction. Wolves, haunters, and humans, all vying to be the first one to catch their scaly nemesis.

Stiles chose to follow Derek in the Jeep. The alpha may have been reckless and bite-happy, but he’d still been a wolf longer than any of the betas, it stood it reason that he knew best how to utilize the gifts that came with his status, the heightened sense of smell, superior eye sight, etc. That’s what Stiles was counting on when he tailed the wolf to the industrial district.

When they finally caught up with the kanima beneath the overpass highway, Stiles elected to stay in the car and let Derek handle things, ‘cause, you know, he was human and far more breakable than the wolf, and would only just be in the way. From the Jeep, he had a safe, front row seat to the little sparring match. Derek spent the majority of the fight dodging the kanima’s venomous claws and tail to avoid another round of paralysis, Stiles couldn’t really fault him for that.

It was going well and fine until Chris Argent showed up and decided to blow and few holes into the lizard. The kanima appeared more startled by the noise of the gun than by the bullets piercing it’s body, and more pissed off by it than injured. It recovered in no time, making a point to throw Chris against the bridge support before bounding off once more.

“Hey asshole,” Stiles spoke to Chris through the open window as he pulled the Jeep up to the curb. “You do realize the kid under the scales has no idea _what_ he is, right?”

“Jackson Whittemore,” Argent spit out the kanima’s true identity, information he could have only obtained if Allison or Scott had sold out their classmate and given it to him. “He’s killing people. It doesn’t matter if he knows it or not. He needs to be put down.”

“This coming from a guy from a family of serial killers. All you do is murder people, guilt or innocence be damned. You are the one who needs to be put down.” Stiles thought it was ten types of hilarious that Argent believed he had any kind of moral high ground. “You get up from that spot to follow us, I’m gonna run you over and tell the cops you threatened me with that gun you’re holding. I was in fear for my life and reacted accordingly.”

“Jesus, kid,” Chris let out a deep, bellied laugh. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’m a real treat,” Stiles deadpanned, shifting his glance to the alpha. “Derek, get in the car. Lizard boy has a head start, but I can close the distance quicker in this than you can on foot.”

“Uh, I—“

“Are you hesitating? Don’t do that. Don’t be an idiot. I mean, do I need to point out how stupid it would be for you to stay out here on your own? For fuck sake, Argents on the ground, you’re not even his target, and his gun’s still trained on you,” Stiles brought attention to the way the barrel of Chris’s gun was positioned in Derek’s direction while it laid on his thigh. The hunter may have had a loose grip on it, but his finger was still on the trigger, ready to drop another body. “Get in the car, Derek. Now.”

Thankfully, the alpha did not need the order issued for a third time to get his ass in gear. He yanked open the passenger door, sliding into the car without another word. Stiles barely gave him time to secure the door before they were speeding down the road.

“All right, stick your head out the window and catch Jackson’s scent,” Stiles instructed, riding the high of his little power trip. “I’ve got a basic direction, but he can slink between buildings and shit.”

“I don’t think he has a scent,” Derek groused, dipping his head out the window anyway, giving the night air a long sniff. “This doesn’t make sense. Jackson shouldn’t be the kanima. He passed the test.”

“Well, you’re little test was bullshit.” Just like everything else in their lives. “Why would ever think it was a full proof method?”

“A snake can’t be poisoned by its own venom,” Derek argued his reasoning. “The venom paralyzed Jackson, it shouldn’t have done that if it was his.”

“But it’s not _his_ venom, not really anyway,” The venom belonged to an entirely different entity that just happened to share its body with a teenage boy. “Think about it, when is the kanima not the kanima?”

“When it’s Jackson.”

* * *

 

They searched for Corbett, they really did. They’d yelled out his name over and over as they swept the house, but were met with nothing but his terrified screams. They didn’t find him, couldn’t even pinpoint his last location. It was almost as if he just disappeared like the death echo had.

“Corbett’s not here. Okay? He’s gone. Maybe he got spooked and ran out the back, maybe something else happened. Either way, he’s gone.” Dean had long since lost any hope of anyone remaining calm and chose to be realistic about the situation. “We need to go to, ‘cause times almost up. Let’s go.”

“Here we go, guys. Come on,” Juice physically pushed the Ghostfacers along to get them moving. “Come on.”

“Turn the fucking camera off and get moving,” Jax snarled, forcefully shoving the camera guy, causing him to trip and stumble. “Go. Now.”

It took more cajoling than should have been necessary to get the little bastards on board with the ‘let’s get the fuck out of here’ plan, but eventually Dean, Jax, and Juice managed it. Too bad it was too little too late. The door wouldn’t budge or break, blunt force couldn’t even make it rattle or creak. Everything they tried proved useless, they were trapped.

“12:04am,” Jax read the time off his watch. “I guess that means we’re fucked.”

“Whoa! What?” Spruce whipped the camera around to film the blond biker. “What the hell is going on?”

“Every door and window—every exit of this house is sealed shut.” Juice enlightened the ghost-hunter crew on their current circumstances. “We’re stuck in here, probably until whatever is wrong with this house kills us off.”

“Why? Why is it all sealed?” Maggie’s stricken gaze darted between them. “ _Why_ are we stuck here?”

“It’s a supernatural lockdown, okay?” Dean elaborated, shining a brighter light on the situation. “Whatever took Corbett doesn’t want us to leave, and it’s not death echo. This is a bad mother, and it wants us scared.”

“Or it just wants us,” Maggie remarked with trepidation, fumbling her EMF detector as it screeched to life in her hands. “Oh, my god!”

“Uh, guys, the camera’s fritzing,” Spruce smacked the side of the camera in an ill-advised attempt to fix the problem by force. “It’s all static.”

“Whoa! Whoa! Guys, the EMF’s starting to spike,” Ed held up his own detector, the lights holding on a steady red. “This is a big one!”

As the EMF detectors screamed, a ghostly figured appeared in front of them, a middle-aged and heavyset man in dirty clothing.

“Whoa! Okay,” Dean inhaled sharply, taking his gun from his jacket. “Is this the same echo you guys saw earlier?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “You watched the video. It’s a different guy.”

“Multiple echoes,” Juice looked to their resident hunter for answers. “That’s a thing? Why is that a thing? How is that a thing?”

“Beats me,” Dean shrugged, stepping in the apparition’s line of sight to speak to it. “Uh, hey, buddy! Hey, hey. Wake up! You’re dead! Hello!”

“Juice, you’ve been the research monkey on this trip,” Jax grabbed the younger Son roughly by the arm. ”What the fuck is Dean doing?”

“Oh, uh, I think sometimes you can, like, shock a death echo out of its loop,” Juice replied, not sounding all too sure of the information he was spewing. “You’d have to appeal to the human side of them, though—if they still have one. And, um, I think you’ve got to have some sort of connection with the dead person.”

“Come on,” Dean shouted at the ghost. “Wake up! Be dead!”

“You guys hear that?” Ed questioned, referring to the loud blaring horn vibrating the house. “What’s that sound?”

“Snap out of it, buddy, huh,” Dean ignored the horn, focusing on trying to get through to the apparition. “Come on, what are you waiting for? You’re gonzo! You’re dead!”

Suddenly, a bright light illuminated the room. As the light drew closer and the horn louder, the apparition flew backwards, as if it had been hit by a vehicle of some kind. In a flash the ghost was gone, the light extinguished, and the horn ceased its unnerving blaring.

“Well, that was exciting, and loud,” Jax rubbed at his ears. “Those things loop, right? I don’t want to hear that horn shit again.”

“Yeah, we don’t have to,” Dean decided, holstering his gun. “Let’s go search the second floor again, this time for anything that can tell us what the hell is going on in this place.”

Dean took the lead on the stairs with Juice, letting Jax bring up the rear. It was a small effort to keep the Ghostfacers safely in the middle, in hopes that they wouldn’t lose another one of them.

“Dude, we both read over the history of this place. There were no records of any of this here,” Dean spoke lowly to Juice. “No one got shot here. Obviously no one got run over by a freaking train.”

“Death echoes are just ghosts, right? Ghosts usually haunt the places they lived or died,” Juice pondered the anomaly. “You’d probably haunt the Impala.”

“Probably,” If his soul wasn’t already damned to spend an eternity in hell, it’d be a safe bet that he’d wind up haunting his baby. “Except these mooks didn’t live or die here.”

“So what are they doing here?” Maggie injected herself into the discussion.

“Hey, give the lady cigar,” Dean praised the girl for her spot-on inquiry. “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Quick question for you, though.”

“Okay?”

“Does looking at this nightmare through a camera make you feel better or something?” He gestured to the mini-cam clipped to next to her headlamp. “I mean….”

“Um…I, uh…,” She fiddled for the camera for a moment. “Well, yeah. Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Oh,” Well, then Dean supposed she could keep it. “Okay.”

They continued up the stairs then down the hall until they came to the room at the end. It was an office of some kind, with animal heads hung like work of art, and file cabinets and shelves pushed against the walls. They didn’t pussyfoot around once inside, they dug right in to find an answer that would free them from the nightmare they were trapped in.

“Hey. Freeman Daggett, the houses last owner.” Jax held up a certificate displayed in a broken picture frame. “Officially commended for twenty-years of fine service at Gamble General Hospital.”

“He was a doctor?”

“Janitor,” Jax said, setting the frame down. “Hope they gave him more than just a certificate for cleaning up other peoples shit.”

“This looks like a den or something,” Dean noted, taking in the taxidermy mounted on the walls and miscellaneous dust covered items around the room. “Juice, when’d you say he died, ’64?”

“Yeah, heart attack.”

“What are these?” Maggie asked, motioning to the shelf of neatly lined metallic packages. “C-rations?”

“Army-issued, three squares, like a lifetime supply,” Dean estimated as he took in the sheer number of them. “Guess he didn’t live long enough to eat ‘em.”

“God, is that all he ate?”

“One-stop shopping,” Dean wasn’t gonna judge the guy, not when he may or may not have found the holy grail in the form of a safe mounted to the wall. “Hello, locked.”

“Oh, come on, guys. This is ridiculous. I mean, how the hell is this supposed to find Corbett, huh?” Ed fumed, pacing over the worn out rug in the middle of the room. “We should be digging up the friggin’ floor boards right now.”

“ _’Survival Under Atomic Attack,’_ ” Jax flipped through a dust covered pamphlet. “Daggett was an optimist.”

Dean half-listened to the chatter as he pried open the old safe, finding only a moldy file box inside. The box was obviously important if it were locked away, had to hold something significant to the homeowner.

“Okay. What do we got?” Dean flipped open the led and began leafing through the contents. “Crap. Crap. Taxidermy. Okay. Jax, you said Daggett was a hospital janitor?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I got three toe tags here,” Dean took the tags from the box to get a better look at them. “One, death by gunshots, train accident, and suicide.”

“Well, uh, I guess that explains why all the death echoes are here,” Juice scrunched up his nose in disgust. “They’re here because their bodies are here, somewhere in the house, right?”

“Daggett brought them home to play,” Jax snickered. “This sick fuck would get along great with Tig.”

“That’s nasty dude,” Spruce gagged. “Nasty.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, shutting the file box and taking stock of the room and its occupants. “Hey, we’re missing someone. Where’s the girl? Where’d she go?”

He pushed past the other to peer down the hall to see the door across the hall ajar. He ducked beneath the low hanging doorframe, sneaking in as quietly as he could. Maggie was near the window, looking at her reflection in a broken mirror.

“Holy crap!” The poor girl jumped about two-feet in the air when Dean’s reflection appeared beside hers. “Dude.”

“Closer to the herd, okay?” Dean admonished the girl. “Come on.”

With a hand to her shoulder, he nudged her out of the debilitated room and back into the den, reuniting her with a worried Harry and a distracted Ed.

“Harry, Harry, I got an 8.6 and climbing fast,” Ed exclaimed, waving the EMF detector in the air. “Something huge is coming. Holy crap, it just past 11, guys.”

The flashlights and headlamps flickered ominously, as they had each time an apparition had appeared. This time, though, there were no death echoes ready to meet their demise for the umpteenth time. However, there was a distinct lack of a particular presence in the room when the lights flashed back on. Where there had once been seven of them piled into the den, there were now only six.

“Where the hell is Juice?”

* * *

 

 ** _NEW TEXT MESSAGE_ :** **JACKASS _:_** _‘_ What are you doing?’

‘Got a probable location on the kanima. Waiting on Sam.’ Stiles typed out, leaning against the back entrance of that location. ‘How are things at Morton Mansion?’

 **JACKASS** : ‘We kinda lost Juice.’

‘You did what?’ Stiles fingers flew over the keypad, the lead weight of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. ‘How do you _kinda_ lose someone, Jax?’

 **JACKASS:** ‘We’ll get him back. He’s in the house somewhere. We’ll find him.’

‘Yeah, you better,’ Stiles wouldn’t accept the hunting party returning without every member it had left with.

 **JACKASS:** ‘I’ll get Juice back, if only to avoid sad eyes from you, Chibs, and Piney when I get home.’

‘You’d have to deal with more than sad eyes.’ Stiles sent back as the sound of a throaty engine pulled his gaze upward to find a black camaro pulling up next to his Jeep. “The fuck?”

 **JACKASS:** ‘Let Sam and Derek take point on the kanima shit. Derek has that super-healing crap, and Sam’s a hunter. You need to stay out of the line of fire—or claws and teeth, whatever.’

‘I had no intention of putting myself in the kanima’s path.’ He was simply tracking it now and transporting it later. ‘I’m an extra pair of eyes. I won’t step in unless it takes down Sam and Derek.’

 **JACKASS:** ‘Guess telling you to not to step in at all would be pointless, huh?’

‘Pretty much, yeah.’ Stiles replied as he watched Sam maneuver his long limbs out of the camaro. ‘Gotta go. Sam’s here. Text you when we’re done. Love you.’

 **JACKASS:** ‘Stay safe, little brother. Love you too.’

“Where the hell have you been, Sam?” Stiles slipped his phone into his pocket as he confronted the younger Winchester. “Does Derek know you stole his car?”

“I was taking Lydia home, trying to suss out what she thinks she saw,” Sam retorted, carelessly shutting the camaro door closed with a kick of his foot. “And Derek just left the car down the street from Scott’s house.”

“So you did steal it,” Good, glad they got that cleared up. “You stole the car you drove to Scott’s place too. Two auto thefts in one day, and here I thought you were supposed to be the ‘good’ Winchester.”

“Shut up,” Sam grumbled and eyed the building behind Stiles. “What is this place?”

“The Jungle, it’s a nightclub,” Stiles had never been there before, but he’d heard some interesting things about it. “Derek’s going in through the front. He said he smelt Scott slinking around. We should get inside before the wolves and kanima slaughter each other.”

“Yep,” Sam moved around Stiles to the door, turning the knob uselessly. “It’s locked.”

“Yeah, I could have told you that,” He had tried it himself when he’d arrived. “Out of the two of us, I’m the brains, you’re the muscle. Muscle it open. Put your back into it, come on.”

“What, you don’t have a crowbar or lock-pick kit in your car?” Sam huffed, putting all his strength into one hard tug, forcing the door open. “Not a very good lock.”

“Lucky us,” Stiles wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Onward.”

Sam didn’t draw his weapon, but he kept his hand near it as they strolled into the nightclub. Stiles didn’t come into this armed with anything more than a knife connected to his belt, well hidden beneath his t-shirt and hoodie. It was a risk to even appear unarmed, but one they would have to take.

“Oh,” Sam took staggered back, eyes blinking rapidly as they struggled to adjust to the strobe lighting and take in the male bodies on the dance floor. “Oh, this is a gay club.”

“Mhm,” If the men grinding to a techno beat didn’t make it obvious, than the half-naked ones dancing on the tables should have been a dead giveaway. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“You, uh,” Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. “You, uh, come here a lot?”

“No,” Being open to his sexuality didn’t mean he frequented clubs that catered to it. “Even if I was into the club scene, I wouldn’t go to one in Beacon Hills.”

“Why not?”

“Why does it matter?” His sex and/or social life was not relevant to the problem at hand. “Can we do what we came to do, please?”

“It’s a touchy subject, I get it.” Sam smiled apologetically. “Yeah, let’s find the kanima.”

With the younger Winchester at his side, Stiles made his way to the bar, determining it had the best vantage point. They each took a stool and scanned the crowd, looking for any familiar faces.

“I’ve got Derek,” Stiles could easily spot the alpha’s glowing eyes through the throng of bodies. “And Jackson’s best friend, Danny. That could be why he’d come here, kanima form or not. The human part has to affect him somehow, right?”

“Yeah, maybe not consciously, but yeah, I’m sure it affects him somehow.” Sam agreed, his own gaze pinned on someone nearby. “Your buddy Scott’s across the bar, slurping on a drink, looking like a dope.”

“Hey guys,” The bartender sidled up to them with a warm smile. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have—“

“A coke,” Sam cut Stiles off, taking it upon himself to order for them both. “We’ll both have cokes, please.”

“You got it.”

“Did you honestly think I would order an alcoholic drink? This is a small town and my dad’s a cop.” Exactly what brand of stupid did the younger Winchester brother take him for? “Not to mention we’re on a case. I’m not Dean or Bobby. I’m not gonna fumble through a job half-drunk.”

“What’s with your attitude today?” Sam asked, looking down his nose at Stiles. “I’m ready to let the kanima have you.”

“Our idiot brothers lost Juice at Morton Mansion,” And that was just #1 on a long list of things souring his mood. “Oh, and fuck you, by the way. My attitude would be fine if any of you dipshits knew how to listen worth a damn.”

He turned away from Sam, giving him the cold shoulder in hopes that it would put an end to any and all conversation. He let his eyes wander the sea of people, his gaze unconsciously returning to Derek and Danny, as if the answer to whom the kanima would attack next lied with one of them, and as it turned out, it did.

“Oh shit,” The whip of a tail above Danny’s head drew Stiles focus to the ceiling. “Kanima in the rafters. I’ll get Danny. You and Derek get the lizard.”

The kanima dropped to the dance floor as Stiles and Sam headed into the crowd of people, moving in separate directions to complete their tasks. Stiles weaved around warm bodies, pushing and shoving when he had to, the club goers remaining blissfully ignorant to the danger that lay before them. Hindsight, he probably should not have been relieved when a long chain of bodies dispersed by falling to the floor suddenly, leaving him a somewhat clear path to Danny, who unfortunately was one of the bodies on the ground.

“Shit, Danny, it’s okay,” Stiles kneeled beside his classmate. “You’re okay.”

“I can’t feel anything,” Danny mumbled, the barest hint of panic in his voice. “I was dancing and something pricked my neck, and I lost all feeling in…everything.”

“I know, man, it sucks. It’s happened to me too, but it’s gonna be okay. It could’ve been a lot worse.” He and everyone else affected by the paralytic venom could be dead, eviscerated, but it seemed the kanima had other plans for the night. “Just relax, man. It’ll wear off. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Hey Stiles,” Danny raised a curious brow. “Why are you here? At The Jungle, I mean. You know, it’s a—“

“The fact that everyone in here is a dude is a pretty good tip off of what kind of club it is,” Stiles was seriously beginning to wonder why everyone thought he was obtuse. “Yes, I like guys. _A_ guy, actually. A guy who is totally out of my league. And you’re not going to tell anybody any of this, are you? I mean, I’d hate for your _temporary_ paralysis to become permanent if that information fell into the wrong hands because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

“Chill, dude, I get it. I’m not going to out you,” Danny promised, as if he were in the position to do anything else. “How long is this paralysis supposed to last?”

“Could be minutes, could be hours,” It varied from person to person. “Take it easy, okay? The ambulance will be here soon. They’ll take care of you.”

“They have an antidote to whatever this is?” Danny asked hopefully. “They’ll give me a shot and I’ll be back on my feet?”

“Well, no,” Stiles hated to be the bearer of bad news, but there was no medication to cure this particular ailment. “But you’ll be more comfortable waiting it out on a hospital bed than on a dirty club floor.”

“Yeah, I would be,” Danny acknowledged with a frown. “Hey, I thought I saw Scott in here earlier. He’s not the guy you’re into—“

“Dude, no,” Thinking about Scott in that context made Stiles nauseous. “Scott was like my brother.”

“Then why was he here?”

“I decided we needed a little break from being friends, he doesn’t agree. He thought coming here and playing wingman would make up for him being a dick.” Stiles’ fabricated excuse might have had the slightest chance of being true if Scott knew he wasn’t entirely straight. “The guy I’m into is older, you know. We work together, actually. He’s a friend. He thinks I’m too young and probably too inexperienced.”

“So you’re trolling gay clubs for guys to gain that experience with, so when you’re old enough, your guy won’t have a reason to say no.” Danny looked so proud of himself for figuring it out that Stiles couldn’t bear to tell him how wrong he was. “A word of advice? If you’re looking for action, but don’t want people who actually know you to know you’re into guys, maybe don’t come to the only gay club in the county.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

 

Juice couldn’t even pretend to be shocked when he became separated from the group, dragged off by the a ghostly asshole he recognized from the research file as Freeman Daggett, the house’s previous owner. It’s not like hunting with a Winchester had ever ended well for him in the past. Although, being captured by a vengeful spirit was new territory for him.

He wound up in what looked like a basement cellar, tied to chair, at a table across from the missing Ghostfacer, Corbett, surrounded by the corpses of the Daggett’s previous victims. The low thrum of ‘It’s My Party’ playing in the background while Daggett fastened a cone-shaped birthday hat to his head just added to the creepy-factor.

“Oh! Uh, okay,” Juice squirmed, feeling the hats string bite into chin. “I, uh, I think I was nine the last time I wore one of these. It was my little brother’s birthday. We had the party at the park so the adults could barbecue and the kids could run around.”

It wasn’t Juice’s default to ramble during a tense situation, but he couldn’t quite help himself this time. If he didn’t talk, he would spend his time listening to creaking floorboards and Corbett’s ragged breathing, and that would only drive him crazy.

“Corbett, hey, Corbett,” Juice spoke in a calm, even tone so not to startle the frightened younger man. “I-I’m Juice, you remember? We met a little while ago.”

“Juice?”

“Yeah, yeah, Juice.” He smiled and nodded. “I need you to keep listening to my voice, okay? You look tired, but you gotta stay awake.”

“Don’t listen,” Daggett instructed Corbett as he picked up a knife from the table. ”It stops hurting, don’t worry.”

The ghost strode to the other side of the table, as carefree as he liked. Corbett's breathing reached a dangerously high rhythm when the spirit came up behind him. Juice could only watch in horror when Daggett pushed the knife through Corbett’s throat.

“Oh, fuck,” If Juice could, he’d be grasping his own throat protectively, knowing what Daggett planned to do to it. “Uh, Mr. Daggett? Look, man, I just want you to know that I’m not a hunter. I didn’t come here to hurt you. I came with a hunter, yeah, but I’m just tech support, man.”

“I’ve been waiting for some more friends,” Daggett drawled, moving around the table to stand beside him, the bloodied knife still in his hand. “I get lonely.”

“I-I’m sorry to hear that,” Juice said sincerely, choosing to treat Daggett as a human rather than a monster. “That’s rough.”

“I get lonely,” Daggett repeated somberly, adjusting the party hat on Juice’s head. “But you’re coming to my party, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, absolutely.” It’s not like he had a choice, he was sort of bound to the chair. “W-Will there be…cake? Because, I mean, what’s a party without cake?”

For his part, Daggett seemed intrigued rather than put off by Juice’s attitude and willingness to participate in the game. Juice figured the longer he played along, the longer he would be allowed to live. So, when Daggett set a frosted cake on the table, Juice just pasted on his best smile.

“Oh, good. Look’s great, man. Delicious,” He licked his lips in anticipation. “It’s your birthday, right? Do you want me to sing ‘Happy Birthday’?”

Daggett appeared momentarily confused before he shook his head, turning his focus back to the knife. He slid the blade over his palm, glancing at Juice, the cake, and back again, as if he were debating over who or what he should use it on, Juice had to think fast to avoid it ending up in his throat.

“Hey, Mr. Daggett,” He carefully captured the ghost’s attention. “Can I have a slice of cake? It just looks so delicious. You don’t have to untie me or anything. I can just sort of lean forward, like I’m bobbing for apples, but with cake. C-Can I have a slice, please?”

His heart plummeted to his stomach when Daggett turned away from the cake, stepping closer to him. He brought the blade firmly against Juice’s throat, but refrained from slicing or puncturing it, adding just enough pressure for the warning to be clear. Juice forced his body to remain perfectly still as Daggett drew the knife down his neck and chest, cutting away his rope bindings.

“Oh, uh,” Juice knew enough to not make any sudden movements, he didn’t want to spook the apparition into attacking. He didn’t explode out of the chair and rush for the door like he wanted to, instead he offered Daggett a grateful smile. “That-That’s much better. Thank you.”

“Cake.” The ghost slid a dirty plate toward Juice, moving the knife toward the icing-covered party favor.

“Cake,” If he wanted to prevent himself from vomiting, he decided it was better not to think about how long that cake had been there. “Yay.”

* * *

 

Dean wasn’t a pacer or a nail-biter, he never gave himself the time for either when there was a life on the line. This time was different, this time it was Juice’s life hanging in the balance and Juice was Jax’s people. Jax, who stood off in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, and a murderous glint in his eyes.

Jax cared about Juice, saw him as a brother, their club ties made them family. Dean had known Juice since the kid had first shown up in Charming, back when he was a skinny, strung out teenager on the cusp of adulthood, just looking for a home. Juice was family to Jax and a friend to Dean, that made this deeply personal.

“Fuck,” Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, mentally running through what little information they had. “Okay, Daggett was a cold war nut. He was an amateur taxidermist. He liked to slow dance with cadavers, and all he ate were c-rations.”

“Horrible little life.” Maggie murmured sympathetically.

“A lonely life. A _cold war_ life,” Jax added, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “Back then, people like Daggett were scared of the Ruskies, they built bomb shelters to protect themselves.”

“Bomb shelters,” Dean knew enough paranoid hunters to know where to find one of those. “Basement.”

Jax sprung into action, yanking Dean by the sleeve of his jacket to drag him along. They hurried down the hall and the flight of stairs, echoes of the Ghostfacers distressed protests following them the whole way. They bolted through the first floor, practically flying down the steps that led to the basement, the door thundering closed behind them, cutting them off from the others as soon as they made it to the bottom.

 _“Woah! That is not funny!”_ Ed cried out from the other side. _“Who shut the door?”_

“Daggett did,” Jax remarked indifferently. “It wants to separate us.”

“Hey, Ed, listen to me,” Dean shouted up the stairs. “There’s some salt in my duffle. Make a circle and get inside.”

_“Inside your duffel?”_

“In the salt, you idiots!” Dean shouted incredulously. “Jesus Christ, guys.”

“Dean, shut the fuck up!” Jax’s harsh voice snapped at him. “Listen. Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Dean questioned, straining to hear until he picked up the low thrum flowing through the walls. “Is that music?”

“It’s coming from the wall behind this,” Jax single-handedly pushed a large cabinet out of the way, revealing a metal door hidden behind it. “This has gotta be the place, right?”

“Yeah, has to be,” They’d checked everywhere else in the house. “Let’s play this smart, huh?”

Dean pressed his ear against the door, listening to anything he could hear through the metal. Aside from the music, he picked up a few muffled sentences that left him baffled.

“Are you…Are you kidding me?” Dean smacked a palm to his forehead. “Juice is…Juice is asking the vengeful spirit for cake, Jax -- for _another_ slice of cake. He is asking the _vengeful spirit_ for _another_ slice of cake.”

“Maybe he’s trying to kill it with kindness,” Jax joked with a shrug of his shoulders. “Or maybe we finally found someone with less self-preservation instincts than you.”

“This isn’t funny, Jackson.” Dean sent a disapproving glare the biker’s way. “He’s gonna get himself killed or worse. I’m never bringing him on a hunt again. He an—“

Dean stumbled suddenly as the door was wrenched open. Juice gave him a passing glance as he sauntered out of the bunker, a shit-eating grin spread across his frosting-covered lips.

“Thanks, Mr. Daggett. I promise we’ll come by on your next birthday, so you don’t have to spend it alone.” Juice spoke over his shoulder to his ghostly captor in the makeshift bomb shelter. “Can you open the other doors, please? We don’t want to tear up your house.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Dean squawked indignantly. “That’s never gonna work.”

As if solely to prove Dean wrong, Daggett granted Juice’s request. Light shined through the newly unobstructed windows and doors swung open to free them from their temporary prison.

“Seriously? We can go?” Dean paused, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Shit, if we actually make it out of this house, I’ll rescind my previous statement and let Juice come on all the hunts.”

“That thing killed Corbett!” Ed yelled as he and the remaining Ghostfacers barreled through the basement door and down the steps. “We’re not going anywhere until that ghost is toast!”

The ghost reacted to the threat accordingly, shuttering up the windows, and slamming the doors violently shut, leaving them trapped…again.

“You stupid motherfucker,” Juice seized Ed by the shirt collar, shoving him against the wall with a loud thump. “I had us out of here.”

“Hey, get off him, man,” Harry elbowed his way between Ed and Juice. “He’s right. That thing killed Corbett.”

“Yeah, I know, I watched him do it,” The usually levelheaded, mild-mannered Son snarled at the Ghostfacer. “His body’s in that room over there. Why don’t you go film it with your little camera, exploit his death like you planned to do with every other person who’s gone missing in this house.”

“All right. Break it up, kids,” Dean pulled Juice by back by the hood of his sweatshirt and addressed the nerd squad. “How did you guys know Corbett was dead?”

“We saw him upstairs.” Maggie told him. “He’s one of the death echoes now.”

“Juice, did you get any information from this guy during your little play date?” Jax asked his club brother. “What’s his problem?”

“He’s lonely,” Juice said sullenly. “Lonely in a Norman Bates kind of way, but it’s still loneliness. He stole the bodies from the morgue to throw himself a birthday party. They were the only ones who would come. At midnight, he sealed them all in the cellar, and then he overdosed upstairs.”

“So now that he’s dead, what? Same song, different verse,” Dean refused to feel sorry for the guy, loneliness wasn’t an excuse for anything the spirit had done. “Trying to get people to come to his party?”

“Pretty much,” Juice nodded. “He wants them to stay with him forever, so he never has to be lonely again.”

“Ah, hell, guys. Get in your ghost-role thing.” Spruce backed himself up against the wall. “Something’s coming.”

Corbett’s ghost appeared at the bottom of the stairs in a washed-out, grayish hue, flickering in and out like a worn movie reel. Apparently, Daggett didn’t like being upstaged by a simple death echo, and decided to take his anger out on those who had come to the house with ill intentions. He showed himself in the doorway of the bomb shelter, and the next thing Dean and Jax knew they were being thrown into the wall.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean coughed, struggling to catch the breath that was knocked out of him. “I’m definitely gonna kill his ass now.”

“Mr. Daggett!” Juice stood protectively in front of his friends. “He didn’t mean it. Everyone is just really on edge. We all need to relax. Okay?”

Whatever bond had formed between Daggett and Juice in their short time together was gone in an instant. The ghost tossed Juice like a ragdoll, landing him smack-dab between Jax and Dean on the floor.

“Ed, remember what we talked about upstairs. Corbett had feelings for you, he wanted you.” Harry reminded his partner. “You can get through to him. You have to. You have to go be gay for that poor, dead intern. You got to send him into the light.”

“Send him into the light….” Ed tested the words on his tongue. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. I can send him into the light.”

“Good,” Maggie grasped the man by the shoulders, pushing him into the death echo’s path. “Go on. Do it.”

“Corbett? Hey, it’s Ed, buddy. Listen to me, okay? Listen. I—we…Okay. You meant…Corbett, you meant a lot to the team. You meant…You meant a lot to me.” Ed stammered through his train of thought. “You know, you never backed down, never said a bad word. I remember that, Corbett. I-I remember that. I remember because I love you. I really, truly love you. Do you remember that? Do you?”

“H-Hey,” Corbett’s echo rotated his head toward the man professing his love. “Ed?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Corbett, it’s…Corbett, yeah, it’s me. It’s me. Look at me. You got to help us, man. You have to help us, Corbett.” Ed pleaded with his fallen friend. “Please, please. Please help us right now.”

“That’s not gonna work,” Dean muttered, reaching for his gun. “Get out of the way before you get yourselves killed.”

The apparition’s in the house seemed to get off on proving Dean wrong, if the way the death echo attacked the ghost was anything to go by. Corbett and Daggett grappled for a mere moment before they both disappeared into a blinding white light.

“Well, what do you know,” Dean let out a breath of relief. “I guess today is the day crazy works.”

* * *

 

When deputies and EMTs swarmed the nightclub, Sam left Stiles to deal with him, choosing to hit the streets in search of the kanima. He came up empty on the lizard, but did happen upon a pair of fellow hunters, Gerard and Chris Argent. He huddled behind a barrier to listen in as they talked amongst themselves under the overpass.

 _“Seven paralyzed. The rumor is drugs_ ,” Chris relayed the information he had on the club incident to his father. _“Probably hallucinogens, since witnesses say they saw a demonic monster on the dance floor.”_

 _“Now, who would believe something like that?”_ Gerard scoffed at the public’s gullibility.

 _“You know what I’m having trouble believing? How earlier you just stood there while that thing circled you, and did nothing,”_ Chris narrowed his eyes, gazing suspiciously at the older man. _“You want to explain that to me?”_

_“Intuition.”_

_“Then you know what it is?”_

_“I have an idea,”_ Gerard clucked his tongue. _“And if I’m right, it plays by certain rules. Rules that don’t bend easily.”_

 _“Do we need to put a hold on Derek to figure this out?”_ Chris questioned pragmatically. _“Derek’s turning teenagers, but this thing’s killing people.”_

 _“Putting a hold on Derek isn’t necessary_ ,” Gerard replied. _“Tonight’s the first time you had a glimpse of him since Kate died, am I right?”_

_“Unfortunately.”_

_“And the only other tie we have to him is Isaac Lahey_ ,” Gerard commented, head titled as if he were weighing his options. 

 _“What are you thinking?”_ Chris asked curiously.

 _“That if this thing bothers Derek enough to bring him out of his hole, then we might have an opportunity,”_ Gerard mused with a devilish smirk. _“What did I teach you is the best way to eliminate a threat?”_

_“Get someone to do it for you.”_

Sam decided he’d heard enough. Derek was Bobby’s kid, that made him family and Sam’s responsibility. He couldn’t just stand by and listen to two out of control hunters plan to pit the kid against the kanima in hopes that they’d kill each other.

“Sounds like a well thought out plan, guys,” Sam stepped out from behind the stone barrier, announcing his presence to the pair. “There’s just one problem, though.”

“Oh?” Gerard’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “And what’s that?”

“Derek’s not an orphaned pup. He’s not an omega struggling to survive. He’s alone anymore.” It had nothing to do with Derek being an alpha with a pack. “He has his dad, and he’s got me and Dean. We’re his family. We have his back. We are not going to let you, the kanima, or anyone else hurt him.”

“Singer’s already ran back to Sioux Falls. Word on the street is Dean’s days are numbered.” Gerard taunted him. “Are you going to protect Derek from his long list of enemies all by yourself?”

“If I have to.”

“You know, I remember your family. You’re well known in the hunting community – not as well known as mine, but people have heard of you. Well, they’ve heard of your father and your brother,” Gerard said contemptuously. “They’re the hunters. You are the one who ran away, who didn’t want to join the family business. You don’t respect the craft. You’re a hunter because you have to be, not because you want to be. That is why you won’t win this war. You have to want it.”

“I want it.”

“No, you don’t.”

* * *

 

Stiles was pretty good at dodging the cops. Even when they were bearing down the club he managed to avoid them. He’d waited for the paramedics to tend to Danny before slipping out the backdoor, into the darkness of the night.

He was hoping to find someone, Sam or Derek, preferably both, to determine how to proceed. Naturally, they both seemed to have flown the coup without so much as a ‘see ya later,’ leaving Stiles chasing his tail since he was neither a hunter nor equipped with supernatural senses.

“Damn it,” He kicked a rock across the sidewalk. “I always come with a team and wind up alone.”

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice sounded from a nearby alley. “Is that you?”

“Yes?”

Stiles jogged in the direction he’d heard the wolf, down the alley between the club and the warehouse next door. Scott was crouched behind a, thankfully, human Jackson. The lizard-shifter was slumped on the ground, his head lolled languidly against a dumpster.

“Glad to see he’s back to his douche-form,” Stiles quipped half-heartedly. “What’d you do to him?”

“Just knocked him out,” Scott retorted, sounding mildly offended that Stiles would think he did anything more than that. “I need to get him somewhere safe.”

“The Jeeps close by,” It was still parked behind the club, right where he’d left it. “We’ll load him up and take him to the loft.”

“Derek’s loft?”

“Well, Derek’s building, not necessarily his loft.” The building had a few empty apartments, surely they could stash the kanima in one. “Sam can secure him until we figure out what to do with him.”

“No,” Scott shook his head. “We can’t take him to Derek’s building. We’d be leading him to his death. Derek wants to kill him, or have you forgotten?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Stiles was getting really tired of having to be the one to make that point. “Where else do you think you can take him? Hmm? Your house? To the Argents? Be smart about this, Scott.”

“I am being smart,” Scott growled, eyes tinting gold. “Walking him right into Derek’s lair is stupid. We’ll figure something else out.”

“We?” He hoped the wolf had someone else in mind, because Stiles would not get on board with whatever half-baked plan Scott scrounged up. “There is no ‘we’ unless _we_ are planning to take him to the loft.”

“I wasn’t talking about you and me,” Scott spit out, standing up taller. “I was talking about me and her.”

“Her, who?” Stiles felt stupid asking, realizing there was only one _her_ Scott would turn to, and she was parking her car at the mouth of the alley as they spoke. “Allison. You’re handing Jackson over to the Argents, the same people who burn entire families alive for shits and giggles.”

“Not the Argents, just Allison,” Scott said it like there was a difference. “We can protect him since no one else will.”

“Neither of you are equipped to protect him. You’ve been a werewolf a couple of months. She’s known about her family for all of a second.” It was laughable to think either of them had the necessary skill set to contain and guard the murderous lizard. “You don’t know where to take him or what to do with him afterward.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Scott declared confidently, hoisting the unconscious Jackson over his shoulder. “And you don’t know what to do with him either, you’ve said as much. So what difference does it make?”

“The difference is, my hunter friends have been doing this longer than five minutes,” Stiles shot back with little heat, knowing arguing with someone as willfully ignorant as Scott was a useless endeavor. “But you’re so full of yourself that you don’t even care, do you? Someone with a lifetime of experience in this area couldn’t possibly do a better job than the all powerful Scott McCall and his little girlfriend – who, may I remind you, is so out of touch with reality that she didn’t even realize she had a family full of killers until auntie Kate gave her a front row seat.”

“Don’t talk about Allison that way!” Scott snapped, lips pulled back in a ugly sneer. _“Don’t.”_

“You and your girl want to play it fast and loose, get yourselves or someone innocent killed, you go right ahead. I am done trying to be the voice of reason in your little fantasy world where you’re a big hero,” Stiles was at his breaking point with all the bullshit. “And do not think for moment that my dad is gonna clean up your mess when you fuck this up.”

Unwilling to give Scott the satisfaction of getting another word in, Stiles turned away, stalking out of the alley the same way he came. He followed the lights and sirens from patrol cars and ambulances until he was at the front entrance of the club, finding his father quickly in the mass of first responders.

“Hey, Pops,” Stiles instinctively reached out for his dad, latching on to the sleeve of his windbreaker. “You can give the all clear, I think. The thing, the kanima—Jackson Whittemore, he’s gone. Scott and Allison took him.”

“Jackson Whittemore is the lizard that’s been terrorizing the town? God, why doesn’t that surprise me?” His father grumbled tiredly. “Scott has him?”

“I tried to get him to let me take him to the loft, so Sam can watch him, but he wasn’t having it.” Stiles was certain nothing he said or did would change the stubborn wolf’s mind. “He’s the baby werewolf, he knows best, or so he thinks.”

“Of course he does, he’s just like his mother. They always think they’re right and couldn’t possibly be wrong.” His dad criticized the McCalls. “What are you even doing out here? You were supposed to go to your classes at BHCC and then go home.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, the supernatural shit-storm takes precedence over everything and everyone,” If things kept going the way they were, some things, like his grades and overall mental health, were going to start slipping. “It’s just the way it is.”

“No, Stiles, no, it’s not.” His dad sighed sadly, hunching his shoulders. “Look, buddy, the kanima – Jackson, is off the streets for now, right? The supernatural shit-storm is over for the night—“

“Unless Scott and Allison lose him,” Stiles would bet good money that they would. “Then we’ll have a very pissed off, murderous lizard running around, and equally pissed off werewolves and hunters chasing it all over hell.”

“Sam and Derek can handle it. I’ll stay out as back up—just as back up,” The older man looped an arm around his shoulders in a loose embrace. “I want you to go home, eat dinner, do your homework, and get some sleep.”

“But Dad—“

“Not a request, Stiles. You will go home and stay there.” His dad said firmly, the order clear in his tone. “I will call Sam and Derek, let them know Scott has Jackson. Okay?”

“Fine.” There was nothing more he could do tonight in regards to the kanima anyway. “Will you call and check in every half hour until you get home?”

“I always do.”

* * *

 

Dawn was breaking by the time they were finally confident that the ghost problem that had plagued Morton Mansion had been extinguished, once and for all. They were all exhausted, drained from the long night, but that didn’t stop them from helping each other out so they could all get back on the road and as far away from the house as possible. Juice assisted Maggie and Spruce load the Ghostfacers equipment into their van, while Jax and Dean took Ed and Harry aside to talk about keeping a lid on things.

“What exactly do you plan to do with the footage you shot tonight?” Dean inquired, gesturing to the headlamp-camera Ed still wore. “You know, the stuff with us and the death echoes.”

“It’s real proof of the existence of supernatural entities,” Harry clapped his hands excitedly. “It’s definitely going on our show.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Ed agreed, fist-bumping his colleague.

“Your friend was murdered tonight, that ghost killed him,” Call Jax crazy, but to him that was more than enough reason to bury that footage forever. “And you plan to, what, cash in on his death by making the video public?”

“There’s a story here, a really beautiful, powerful story.” Ed claimed. “A story that can teach us about heart, about dedication, and about how gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day.”

“That’s, uh,” Dean smothered a laugh behind his fist. “That’s sweet, Ed.”

“No, it’s idiotic.” Jax glowered, looking away from the dipshits to see how the pack-up was going. “You almost done there, Juice?”

“Yeah, these are the last ones,” Juice held up two duffel bags. “Then we can go.”

“Okay,” Jax hoped Juice hid their little present in one of those bags. “Get it done.”

“You know, this is great stuff you got here, guys. High quality gear,” Juice admired the Ghostfacers equipment, going as far as to climb into the back of the van. “I’m impressed.”

“Be impressed out here, Juicy,” Jax instructed his friend, no lack of exasperation in his tone. “Does Gemma need to have another stranger-danger talk with you when we get home?”

“No,” Juice frowned, jumping out of the van. “They’re not really strangers. Dean knows them.”

“Dean knows a lot of psychos,” While Jax believed the Ghostfacers were relatively harmless, it didn’t mean other people were, and that was something Juice had never really learned. “And you know better than to get in cars with people you don’t know.”

“I hitchhiked across the country when I was seventeen,” Juice brushed off his VP’s concern. “I learned to weed out the weirdos.”

“You joined an outlaw biker gang once you made it across the country. And you just helped vanquish a vengeful spirit with your hunting pal who is, legally, a dead man,” Dean put Juice’s life choices into perspective. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re as good as you think you are when it comes to weeding out the weirdos.”

“Hey, come here for a sec,” Jax circled his arm around Juice’s neck in a mock headlock, whispering into his ear. “Did you do it?”

“The electromagnet is in the bag with their computers and tapes. It’ll wipe all their hard drives.” Juice confirmed the footage shot in Morton Mansion would never see the light of day. “Do I want to know why Dean just happened to have an electromagnet in his car?”

“I’ve learned it’s better not to ask too many questions.”

* * *

 

Keeping Jackson chained up in the tunnels by the Hale house had seemed like an excellent idea at first, but by mid-morning Allison’s family were scouring the preserve, unknowingly closing in on their location. Scott and Allison were forced to relocate their captive classmate or risk being caught. Luckily for them, there was still one other place Scott felt was safe enough to keep Jackson, where the hunters would never think to look.

“This is a bad idea,” Allison said, not for the first time. “It’s crazy.”

“It’s perfect,” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it earlier. “No one is dumb enough to break into this house.”

“No one except us.”

“I meant, like, hunters or criminals or whatever. And we’re not breaking in, I have the spare key,” Scott took his keychain out of his pocket. “Come on. We need to get inside before someone sees us. Oh, and the security code is 10-31-99.”

He handed off his keys to Allison, allowing her to unlock the front door and input the alarm code while he hefted the semi-conscious Jackson into his arms and lugged him into the house. Getting Jackson to the basement without breaking anything or making a mess was a delicate balancing act, but somehow he’d managed it.

“Okay,” Scott dumped Jackson as gently as he could onto the concrete floor, mindful of the shackles on his wrists and ankles. “There we go.”

“What happens when Stiles or Sheriff Stilinski come home?” Allison asked, pacing anxiously. “They are not going to be okay with this.”

“Yes, they will,” Scott had never been so sure of anything in his life. “Stilinski protects people for a living, it’s his job. And Stiles…Stiles wants to help, I know he does, he just doesn’t know how. He needs a push in the right direction, this can be that push.”

“Stiles isn’t as altruistic as you think he is. He’s aligns himself with bunch of violent bikers and the Winchesters,” Allison denounced Stiles potential motives based on who he chose to associate with. “I overheard my parents talking about them. They’re crazy. The one Stiles wanted to give Jackson to, Sam, he’s the anti-Christ or something.”

“That’s insane. There’s no such thing as an anti-Christ,” Scott could barely believe werewolves were real and he was one of them. He sure as hell couldn’t buy something as crazy as an anti-Christ. “Stiles knows them, but he’s not like them. He’s like us. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, not even Jackson. He’ll find us here, realize we need him, and he’ll help us. I know he will.”

“What if someone else finds us first?” Allison questioned worriedly. “Like Jackson’s parents?”

“I texted them from his phone this morning,” He made sure no one would be looking for Jackson, not his parents or friends. “Told them he stayed at a friend’s house last night.”

“They’re not stupid,” Jackson mumbled groggily, struggling to sit upright. “They’ll never believe whatever you sent them.”

“Look, Jackson, I know you’re probably freaked out right now, with the chains and all, but we are trying to help you.” Scott squatted beside his classmate till they were eye-level. “You might not believe me, but you should know you were killing people. Until we can figure out how to stop you, you’re gonna have to stay here. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

“If I’m killing people, why not hand me over to the cops?” Jackson cocked his head to the side, glaring up at Scott. “Hmm?”

“When you’re doing it—killing people, you shift into a reptile creature,” There were extenuating circumstances that prevented them from going through the proper channels. “The police wouldn’t know how to deal with you.”

“So now I’m a murderer _and_ a reptile,” Jackson snorted, shaking his head. “I’ll play along. What kind of reptile am I?”

“It’s called a kanima. You have claws that paralyze people. You have a tail, too, but I don’t know if it does anything.” Scott didn’t really know the specifics of Jackson’s abilities, he hadn’t had a chance to go over all the research. “I know you still don’t believe me, but you need to try to remember, okay? The night of the semi-final game, what did you do right after?”

“I went home.”

“You attacked Derek and Stiles at the school, you trapped them in the pool. That same morning you killed a mechanic with Stiles Jeep. You also killed a hunter that worked with my family.” Allison exposed Jackson’s alter ego’s actions. “Last night, you tried to kill Danny.”

“Why would I want to kill him?” Jackson pulled at the chains of his shackles. “Why would I want to kill my best friend?”

“I don’t know,” But Scott was determined to get to the bottom of it. “That’s what I’m going to figure out.”

“Well, maybe, instead, you should try to figure out how you’re going to pay for a lawyer,” Jackson suggested. “’Cause when I get out of here, I’m gonna prosecute your asses all the way to jail!”

“Allison’s gonna stay with you and keep you company. I’ll be back soon.”

* * *

 

Since the destruction of his station, John had been wary about keeping personal items at work, afraid they’d be destroyed by another attack, but he needed things to appear normal. Still, he couldn’t help but fidget anxiously with the mementos throughout his shift. His ceramic ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ mug, chipped and cracked from the blast, didn’t sit quite right in its place beside his new nameplate. The framed picture of his wife and son he’d brought from home wasn’t the same as the family photo that’d been reduced to ash in the explosion. None of it felt like it really belonged in the trailers they were using as temporary offices.

“Damn it,” Stiles cursed, scribbling in his notebook. “No. Just, no.”

“I hope that’s school work and not more supernatural research.” John hadn’t allowed Stiles to take a mental health day from his classes at BHHS so he could stress himself out further over things he could not control. “You are cut off from the Winchester and werewolf crazy, for the time being at least.”

“It’s homework,” Stiles assured him, scratching the side of his head with a pen. “Extra credit for my psych 101 class.”

“So long as it’s some kind of homework,” If John had his way, schoolwork would be his son’s only concern. “And you know not to use things you learn in psychology class to analyze your family, right?”

“I know, I know,” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “You all get so touchy about that.”

“For good reason.”

“Mhm,” Stiles nodded, returning his concentration to his homework.

The teenager had made himself a small pallet a few feet away from John’s desk. He sat cross-legged on floor, textbooks and notepads surrounding him. It reminded John of when Stiles was little and he’d sit on the floor of Claudia’s gallery, playing with Legos while she worked.

Stiles wasn’t that small boy anymore, though. John’s previously jovial son, with a grin a mile-wide, now pasted on smiles because he though that’s what people wanted to see. He was jaded where he’d been innocent, and his once boundless energy had been replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion he couldn’t shake. As a parent, it was physically painful to see those changes so clearly in his child.

“I can feel you brooding at me,” Stiles mentioned, his amber eyes glancing up from the textbook. “Stop it.”

“I’m not brooding,” He wasn’t an angst-ridden adolescent anymore, nothing he did could constitute as brooding. “I’m thinking.”

“About me?”

“Nearly every second of every day since the day you were born,” John’s son never strayed far from his mind since the moment he’d come into the world.

“I’m honored,” Stiles gushed, batting his lashes, before his face contorted in a grimace. “And a little creeped out.”

“Sheriff Stilinski!” A masculine voice boomed through the trailer as the door was thrown open and a man in a well-tailored suit barged in. “Sheriff!”

“Mr. Whittemore,” John stood from his chair to greet the man. “What can I help you with?”

“My son,” Mr. Whittemore clutched his chest, taking in a shaky breath. “He’s missing.”

“Excuse me,” Stiles began gathering his books, stuffing them into his backpack. “I’ll get out of your way. Give you some privacy.”

“No, no,” Mr. Whittemore stopped the teenager. “You go to school with my Jackson, don’t you? Did you see him today?”

“No, sir.” Stiles immediately sunk into his publically acceptable, polite, respectful, young man role. “I wasn’t at the high school today. I had classes at Beacon Hills Community College. I’m sorry, Mr. Whittemore, I don’t know if Jackson was at school today.”

“Mr. Whittemore,” John pulled the terrified father’s attention back to himself. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”

“Jackson didn’t come home last night. H-He texted his mother and I,” Mr. Whittemore removed a phone from his suit jacket, opened the message in question, and held it out to Stilinski. “You see?”

“ _’Stayed at a friend’s house last night. Everything fine. Love you.’”_ John read the text off the phone. “Mr. Whittemore, maybe I’m missing something, but, uh, this doesn’t exactly spell foul play.”

“While we’re as close as a family can be, there are certain things Jackson has not been able to say since the day we told him he was adopted,” Mr. Whittemore admitted, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt fretfully. “He never says ‘I love you’.”

“Never?”

“Not once in eleven years,” Mr. Whittemore confessed. “Sheriff Stilinski, my son did not send this text message, someone else did. I’ve spoken to his friends, none of them have seen him since yesterday afternoon. Someone took my child, I know they did.”

“I believe you, Mr. Whittemore,” Unfortunately, he was all too aware of who had the Whittemore boy, he just didn’t know where the kid was being held, but he fully intended to find out. “Someone is sending text messages from his phone, which means it’s probably still on, so we can track it. We’ll find your son, Mr. Whittemore.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

* * *

 

Although Sam would never admit it, his efforts to track Scott and Allison the previous night had not been successful. Two bumbling teenagers had managed to outsmart him, and if Dean or Stiles found out, he’d never hear the end of it. So long as he located them, and the kanima, at some point in the day, then no one would have to know about his little mishap.

It was only by chance that he eventually caught up with Scott. He’d gone to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital to speak with Ms. McCall, to convince her that Scott would be safer if he was the one who found him with Jackson, rather than the Argents or police. He had been waiting for the nurse to finish with a patient when he’d spotted Scott.

The teenager was in the triage area, chatting with a kid Sam recognized as one of the paralysis victims from the club. He crept closer, using the curtain around the medical bay as cover so he wouldn’t be caught eavesdropping on his conversation.

 _“You sure everything’s okay between you and Jackson, Danny?”_ Scott questioned the other boy. _“You didn’t do anything to make him angry?”_

_“How angry?”_

_“On a scale of one to ten, one being ‘kind of irritated,’ and ten being ‘wanting to kill you violently,’”_ Scott set the parameters to gauge Jackson’s temper. _“How angry could he be?”_

 _“Jackson’s kind of always at a four, but we’re good.”_ Danny shrugged. _“I was actually doing him a favor.”_

_“What favor?”_

_“I was recovering a video for him. I put it on my tablet_ ,” Danny replied, relaxing against the pillows on the gurney. _“Which is in the trunk of my car, and probably still at the club.”_

 _“What was the video of?”_ Scott inquired to no avail, his classmate remained tightlipped. _“Danny, what if I told you this could be a matter of life and death?”_

 _“I’m not supposed to say,”_ Danny chose loyalty to his friend over giving Scott what he wanted. _“Sorry.”_

“Excuse me,” An irate Nurse McCall, with a deceptively strong grip, wrapped a hand around Sam’s bicep, jerking him away from the triage unit. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, actually,” Sam answered that much with honesty. “Your son missed school today.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Melissa released her hold on him and took a step back. “He’s…sick.”

“Well, are you aware he’s failing two classes?” While Sam was viewing Stiles school transcripts earlier, he might have snuck a peek at Scott’s as well. “If he fails even a single midterm, he’ll be held back.”

“I’ve already spoken to his principal about this,” She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “I don’t know what that has to do with you, you’re just a substitute teacher.”

“I’m just concerned,” They may not be on the same side in the brewing war, but that didn’t mean Sam couldn’t sympathize with the younger McCall. “I’ve been where he is—“

“You were a teenage werewolf?”

“No, but I was a teenage hunter,” Hunter-in-training, whatever. “I grew up on the road, constantly changing schools while learning to hunt the things that went bump in the night. Despite all that, I still kept my grades up and got scholarship to Stanford.”

“Scott is a werewolf, not a hunter,” Melissa corrected with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “They are not the same thing. You two are not the same.”

“You’re right, we’re not the same. Scott has a distinct advantage, he has home and stability,” It may not have seemed like much, but it made the world of difference in the long run. “You can’t blame the werewolf stuff for his failings, it’s too new. I looked at his transcripts, his grades have been slipping for a while. He can still catch up, he’s not too far gone—“

“I’m sorry,” Melissa held up a hand to silence him. “Why is this your business?”

“It’s not. I know it’s not.” He understood that she felt he was overstepping. “I just want to help. I want you to realize that being different, being a werewolf, doesn’t mean your son’s life is over. He can still have a future. You just need to show him—No. You need to _tell_ him how it is.”

“I do?”

“You’re his mom, aren’t you?” Perhaps Sam had been wrong about that, too. “Stop being his friend and start acting like his mother. Make him buckle down and focus on what really matters, and stop using the fact that he’s a werewolf as a ‘get out of jail free’ pass.”

“Uh, Nurse McCall,” Danny interrupted, coming to stand beside the woman. “Scott asked me to tell you that he had to leave, and he wouldn’t be home for dinner.”

“Thank you, Danny,” Melissa forced on a tight smile for the patient. “Please go back to your bed. The doctor will be discharging you soon.”

“I gotta go,” If Sam acted quickly, he could still catch up with the teenager. “Think about what I said, Ms. McCall.”

* * *

 

The two rickety steps that led into the trailer were safety hazard for anyone wearing heels. Gemma would’ve brought it up to John, but she thought better of it when she stepped into the temporary station and took in the sorry sight of her former lover and their son. John was leaned over a stack of paperwork on his desk, stress in his shoulders, brows furrowed in concentration. Stiles was fast asleep on the floor, snoring softly, head pillowed atop his backpack, his legs stretched out over a pile of textbooks.

“Well, this is…cozy,” She scrutinized the small area, stepping around haphazardly placed chairs to get to John’s new ‘office.’ “Brought you coffee, you look like you could use it.”

“Thank you,” He readily accepted the beverage, taking a long sip. “I know you didn’t drive all the way up here to bring me caffeine. What’s going on?”

“Spoke to Jax yesterday,” She mentioned, slipping into the free seat across from him. “He said Stiles had some sort of meltdown the other night.”

“It wasn’t a meltdown. He just…,” John trailed off, trying to find the correct wording to describe what their son had gone through. “It’s hard for him to process everything sometimes. Right now, there is so much happening, and it’s hitting him from all sides with no signs of letting up. He wants to help, but he can’t be everywhere, and there’s not always something he can do. He refuses to accept that, so he tries to find a way, even if there isn’t one.”

“Kid needs to get laid,” Gemma remarked blithely, glancing at her youngest child out of the corner of her eye. “That’ll take his mind off things.”

“I agree he needs a distraction, but it doesn’t have to be sex,” John argued, pushing his paperwork aside for the time being. “He’s not Jax. You can’t smack an attractive person in his path and expect him to start humping.”

“He’s a teenage boy,” Having raised one of her own and helped raise a few others, Gemma considered herself an authority on the subject. “Sex is the only thing on a teenage boys mind.”

“Stop acting like you don't know why it’s not like that for him,” John lowered his voice considerably to keep their son from stirring from his slumber. “You know, you usually don’t come here for every little thing involving Stiles. What are you really doing here?”

“I’ve got no ulterior motive this time, Johnny. I really did just come to check on Stiles. I mean, that night at the hospital he did say I was a good mom,” It was the nicest thing the kid had ever said to her, and she might’ve let it go to her head a little. “I figured I better start living up to it. I’d hate to be accused of false advertising.”

“Compared to Melissa. You are a good mother _compared to Melissa_ ,” John put the statement into context. “She doesn’t set a high bar. That’s not to say you’re not a good mom. You are to Jax, you were to Thomas, and you are trying with Stiles.”

“I can’t decide if you just insulted or complimented me,” It felt a little like both. “So, thanks, but also: fuck you.”

“S-Sheriff Stilinski,” A deputy entered the trailer, tentatively calling out to his superior. “We’ve got a location on the Whittemore boy.”

“That’s great news,” John rose from his chair and pulled on his jacket, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. “Where is he?”

“Well, you see, that’s the thing, s-sir,” The deputy stuttered nervously. “It’s, um…”

“Spit it out, son,” John urged the younger man. “This boy could be in serious danger. The sooner we find him the better. Where is he, deputy?”

“According to the trace on his phone, he’s at your house.”

“My house?”

“Yes, sir.”


	13. Raving about the Long Distance Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Gif sets: [You Should Go](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/167145587254/charming-wayward-sons-verse-you-should-go), [Thomas](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/165853594924/charming-wayward-sons-verse-thomas-y-you-cant)  
> Episodes: [SOA] 1x11 Capybara, [SPN] 3x14 Long Distance Call, [TW] 2x07 Restraint/2x08 Raving

Stiles tried not to jump to conclusions about Jackson’s phone, he really did. There were plenty of reasons why it would turn up at his house. However, with the simplest answer usually being the right one, he couldn’t help but think the worst.

“I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill them.” Stiles repeated like a mantra. “I’ll kill them bloody. No one will ever find their bodies, no one.”

“Saying that out loud counts as premeditation and we are in a police station surrounded by deputies,” Gemma whispered words of warning in his ear. “Hush.”

“I’m vocalizing it, so I don’t actually do it.” He was trying to calm himself down to prevent an outburst when the perps were brought in – if they were brought in. “Dad, you told the deputies not to use the sirens, right? And to be as quiet as possible when they breach the house—“

“Yes, Stiles,” His father said through a tired sigh – it may or may not have been the first time he’d had to answer that question. “My deputies know what they’re doing, they won’t spook anyone into rabbitting.”

Stiles dad, as hard as it was for him, elected to stay behind at the station and let the deputies handle things at the house. It was the smart way to avoid any conflicts of interests or claims of contaminating the crime scene, should any accusations of conspiring with Jackson’s captors be lobbed their way. It wasn’t easy for either Stilinski to sit on their hands, especially when their home was involved, but it’s not like they had any other choice.

“And, you know, we’re making a lot of assumptions based on Jackson’s phones location. It does not mean he or anyone else is there, it just means his phone is.” His father rationalized, grasping for a reason that would not make their home an active crime scene. “I mean, no one is dumb enough to break into a cop’s home to hold a kidnapped boy. That’s playing with fire, asking to be caught.”

“Or someone is trying to frame you for kidnapping.” Gemma theorized, drumming her well-manicured nails against the desk. “You both made plenty of enemies as of late, some of which used to be friends.”

“Scott is not quite nefarious enough to plot a frame up,” Although, Stiles didn’t think Scott was stupid enough to break into his house either, so maybe he was bias or ill-informed. “Not on purpose anyway.”

“We won’t know the full story until the deputies get back, which should be any second now,” His dad double-checked the time on his watch. “We’re not going to be able to get back into the house for a few more hours, depending on what’s found. Stiles, why don’t you go back to Charming with Gemma for the night, get some sleep. I’m going to be here a while, no matter how it turns out.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles would have to be dragged out kicking and screaming before he left willingly. “I need to know what happened or I will lose my freaking mind.”

“And I want to see how this plays out,” Gemma chimed in, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, I’m staying till the bitter end.”

“Sheriff Stilinski,” A deputy pushed the trailer door open. “They’re pulling in now.”

Stiles was the first one to the door, shouldering past the deputy and out of the trailer. He would have stormed to the patrol car and yanked the prisoners out, but his father stopped him in his tracks with a strong hand on the scruff of his neck.

“No,” His father walked him back several steps. “Keep your distance. This needs to be by the book.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’ll be good.” Stiles reluctantly relented, not appreciating being called to heel. “I’ll stand down. Enough with the unruly puppy routine.”

Okay,” His dad released his grip on Stiles neck, patting his nape consolingly. “We all just need to keep our cool.”

“Good luck with that.” Gemma snickered, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder.

“Sheriff, we found Jackson Whittemore, alive and unharmed. The EMT’s checked him out at the scene, didn’t find any injuries.” A deputy Stiles didn’t recognize, one of the new hires, relayed the information. “He wanted to come in and give his statement, get it over with, you know.”

“Good work, Deputy Torrance. Take him to my office and call his father.” The sheriff instructed the officer. “Deputy Graeme, were the perpetrators apprehended?”

“Yes, sir. Scott McCall and Allison Argent,” Deputy Graeme wrenched open the door of her cruiser, ushering the handcuffed teenagers out. “They had Jackson Whittemore chained up in the basement. He identified them as his abductors.”

“Did they try to flee the scene?” Stilinski inquired, glaring at the kids who dared enter his home without permission. “Did they resist arrest?”

“No, sir. When we found them, they were being…intimate with one another, on your living room sofa.” Graeme’s face scrunched up in disgust. “We yelled ‘freeze’ and Mr. McCall decided to fall on his sword, claiming Allison had nothing to do with anything, she was innocent. Jackson Whittemore’s story contradicts that one.”

“Jackson’s a liar!” Scott shouted, moving to step away from the deputies bracketing he and Allison. “Stiles, you have to tell them—we wouldn’t—Stiles, I’m sor—“

“I don’t give a shit about your apologies or excuses,” Stiles snarled at his former friend. “You’re lucky I don’t kil—“

“No!” Gemma slapped her hand over his mouth. “Premeditation, baby.”

“Take them to the interrogation trailer. Keep them separated, don’t let them speak to each other.” His dad ordered the two deputies standing outside the trailer, Latura and Donahue. “I’ll call their parents. Deputy Graeme, you’ll take point on this to avoid any conflicts of interest. You can start by getting Jackson’s statement.”

“Yes, sir.” The trio of deputies echoed, accepting their assignments.

“Stiles, Gemma, I still think you two should go back to Charming for the night, but if you insist on staying, you’ll have to wait out here. We need privacy in the trailers.” His dad remarked, ascending the stairs to the trailer. “I’ve got to make those calls. Text me if you decide to go.”

“I-“ Stiles knocked Gemma’s hand away from his mouth so he could speak. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“All right.” His dad nodded, closing the trailer door behind himself.

With the members of law enforcement, the suspects, and the victim all dispersed to their separate areas, it left Stiles and Gemma the lonely pair outside. Gemma didn’t make a move to leave, as his father requested, just leaned back against the trailer, staring at Stiles through calculating eyes.

“You know, you don’t have to stay,” Stiles had no idea why Gem was at the station in the first place. “It’s late, I’m sure you want to get home, get some sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Her lips twitched upward in a hint of a smile. “Went and saw Abel this morning. Doctor said his sleep apnea’s better, no alarms the last two nights. He’s almost through it.”

“That’s great.” The last time Stiles had spoken to the doctors, they’d said Abel’s apnea was something they wanted to get under control before they felt comfortable releasing him. “Means he’ll be coming home soon.”

“Real soon,” Gemma lit up at the prospect of her grandson finally being able to leave the hospital. “Pending anymore complications, that could be as soon as a couple of days.”

“Awesome,” There was just one little problem with that. “Jax isn’t ready for this, you know. He’s trying, but he’s not ready.”

“On that we agree,” She laughed mirthlessly. “His father was clueless too. So was yours. They figure it out. Got no choice, right?”

“I guess,” That didn’t mean they could just throw Jax off the deep end and hope he learned to swim. “Who’s gonna take care of Abel in the meantime, until Jax figures it out?”

“I will.”

“Day and night?” That was a lot to take on for anyone. “No offense, Gem, but you’re not as young as you used to be.”

“Watch it.” She cautioned him. “I’m still young enough to put you over my knee and whoop your ass.”

“You’ve got your hands full with your club of man-children,” Stiles rallied on, choosing to ignore the threat. “I don’t think Clay is going to appreciate a screaming baby in the house if you bring Abel home.”

“Clay will learn to deal with it,” Gemma didn’t seem the least bit concerned by how her husband would react to a wailing infant in their home. “You told Jax you’d help him adjust to fatherhood.”

“And I will, but I can’t be there all the time,” Not to mention Stiles didn’t know the first thing about babies. “Have you talked to Wendy since she was hauled off to rehab?”

“No,” Gemma shook her head. “Have you?”

“Not directly. I’ve gotten a few calls voicemails from her, though.” Apparently, his former sister-in-law still believed he could help bring her back into the family fold. “I did get a call from the director of the rehab center the other day.”

“Why are they calling you?”

“I paid them to keep me informed, to let me know when she checked out.” Stiles may have misappropriated some of the funds in Jax’s bank account to bribe the administrator, but it was a necessary evil. “She’ll be getting released about the same time Abel is.”

“She’ll try to come home, see Abel,” Gemma deduced easily. “I’ll take care of her.”

“You know, we can’t actually kill her.” They’d be numbers two and three in the suspect pool, right behind Jax. “I don’t think.”

“I’m just going to make sure she knows she’s not welcome in Charming or in Abel’s life.” Gemma clarified. “If she doesn’t heed my warnings, then I’ll—well, I’ll keep that to myself. The less you know, the less you can say in an interrogation.”

“I won’t ask any questions then,” Stiles snorted as he picked up the sound of a throaty engine coming down the road. “You hear that?”

“Hear what….” She trailed off when the impala skidded to a stop in the stations parking lot. “Oh, the boys are back.”

“Looks that way,” Stiles mumbled, paying close attention as the men piled out of the car. “And they’re all in one piece.”

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Gemma joked half-heartedly before greeting the hunting party. “Hey boys.”

“Hey Mom,” Jax kissed his mother’s cheek, but his worried eyes were focused on Stiles. “You know there’s crime scene tape and cops at your house? What the hell happened?”

“Some bullshit.” There was really no other way to describe it. “It’s nice to see you got Juice back. It would have been nice to know that a hell of a lot sooner.”

“A vengeful spirit gave me cake,” Juice grinned like an over-excited puppy. “Two slices.”

“That’s…different.” Stiles wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. “I wanna hear all about it later.”

“There’s not much to say, Juice played nice with Mr. Ghost, got cake, and was released unharmed.” Dean explained, playing down the whole thing. “Seriously, dude, what happened at your house?”

“Scott and Allison decided to unlawfully imprison Jackson Whittemore in the basement while Dad and I were here,” And since the couple didn’t have two brain cells to rub together between them, they left Jackson’s phone on to be traced. “Now our house is a crime scene.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jax pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why would they take their hostage to your house? I mean, you wouldn’t let them—“

“If I was going to keep someone prisoner, I wouldn’t do it at my own house,” Stiles was a better class of criminal than that. “I guess they didn’t want cops searching their houses when they inevitably got caught, so they decided mine was the better option.”

“It’s a good way to paint you as an accomplice, if not the ringleader,” Juice muttered, his previously jovial attitude morphing into something darker. “I knew we should have beaten that kid with a lead pipe after the pool thing.”

“There’s still time for that,” Jax assured his club brother. “A lead pipe and a shallow grave.”

“I thought Sam was supposed to be helping out with the Jackson-kanima stuff,” Dean scanned the property, searching for his brother. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know. Doing research? Getting his dick sucked?” Their guess was as good as his. “He doesn’t keep me updated on his whereabouts. We didn’t exactly have the best time playing hunt-the-kanima together.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me,” Dean snorted, scratching the side of his head. “What about Derek? He was on the catch-the-kanima duty too, wasn’t he?”

“Did I miss the part where I became your brothers’ keeper?” Stiles would have liked the chance to decline that particular job offer. “I haven’t seen anyone. You want your brothers, find them yourself.”

“Hey,” Jax draped his arm around Stiles shoulders, reeling him in for a hug. “Relax, kid.”

You look tired,” Juice mentioned, concerned. “You should come back to Charming—“

“So people keep telling me,” Stiles didn’t mean to snap, especially at Juice, but he was working on a short fuse and didn’t have the patience for people telling him what he should and should not do. “I’m sorry. I am tired, but I’m not leaving until this shit with Scott is settled. All right?”

“All right,” Juice nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Guess we’re staying to.”

“No,” A kidnapped victim in his house looked bad enough, they didn’t need two known gang members and Dean ‘legally dead’ Winchester to make things worse by being present. “I need you guys to go home. Dad and I got this. Can you just go? Please, I need you to go. I’ll call if I need anything.”

“Okay,” Jax pressed a brotherly kiss to Stiles temple. “We’ll go.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

 

Church had started off well enough, all who were present were in good spirits after learning Luann had finally been released from federal custody, after weeks of Stahl trying to pin charges on her. They were damn near giddy finding out Otto had bashed Stahl’s face in, retaliation for her attempts to get him to give up the clubs past sins to make her RICO case. Otto’s prison sentence being extended because of the assault sucked, but it didn’t kill the mood any, and neither did the ATF knocking down their door.

It’d been a good while since the clubhouse had been raided by feds, so Jax supposed they were due. He couldn’t even feign surprise when the agents burst through the doors and threw them all on the dirty floor. It wasn’t only club members being accosted this time around, Gemma and the croweaters also ended up face-down as the feds commenced their destruction-filled search.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy,” Stahl squatted down in front of Jax, sliding a document under his nose. “I made sure the warrant specified what I’m here for this time.”

“Guess Otto slamming your head into that table knocked some sense into you,” A dark smile spread across Jax’s lips. “I’ll let my brother know, he’ll be so proud.”

“Robert Munson,” A male agent grabbed the older Son by the arm and yanked him to his feet. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Brenan Hefner.”

Hefner? Jax wracked his brain trying to place the name before recalling the incident with Cameron Hayes a few weeks prior. Brenan Hefner was the port authority guy that Hayes wanted the club to take out. Jax was supposed to be part of the team that took him out, but something had come up with Dean or Stiles. He wasn’t sure who had ended up carrying out the murder, but made a mental note to find out.

“I’ll call Rosen, Bobby,” Clay promised his club treasurer. “You sit tight.”

“Hey, bitch!” Gemma hawked a wad of spit at Stahl’s legs, earning a swift, powerful kick to the side from the agent. “Ah!”

“Aye! Easy now!” Chibs yelled a warning to the feds. “Easy.”

“Manners, darling,” Stahl chastised, digging the toe of her shoe into Gemma’s ribs, smiling when she groaned in pain. “Manners.”

* * *

 

The interrogations, interviews, and negotiations surrounding Jackson’s kidnapping lasted through the night, not breaking up until the early morning hours. The parties involved had managed to settle it all without bringing in the DA’s office or personal lawyers. Stiles had gotten the full rundown from Deputy Graeme when it was all over.

With charges like kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, and assault in play, Mr. Whittemore must have had a serious lapse in judgment to let Scott and Allison off with only restraining orders. Of course, Melissa McCall and Victoria Argent couldn’t leave well enough alone, they had to place blame in an effort to reduce the charges further.

Victoria didn’t want her daughter punished, her perfect record marred, for something she believed Scott had forced Allison to participate in. Melissa, in turn, labeled Allison as not only the orchestrator of the kidnapping, but in every bit of trouble Scott had been in since the Argents moved to town. Eventually, the mothers found it in themselves to overcome their anger at each other and band together against their common enemies: Stiles and his dad.

Melissa was obviously still smarting from the pool incident and subsequent confrontation, and the Argents were holding a grudge about his dad calling social services on them. According to Deputy Graeme, the mothers had both gotten stuck on the fact that their children committed the crime in the Stilinski house. They had to be involved, because how could Scott and Allison possibly use the house without Stiles and his dad knowing?

The mothers argued that Stiles had been behind the whole thing, had transported Jackson in his Jeep and let Scott and Allison into the house. The women alleged Stiles close relationship with his _criminal_ brother was proof that Stiles was most likely the guilty party. It may have been a load of crap, but it had landed Stiles dad in hot water with his superiors, who had demanded a meeting immediately.

While his father was busy defending him against false accusations, Stiles was left cooling his heels in the trailers that held his dad’s office. He’d planted his ass at his dad’s desk and tinkered around on his work computer to keep busy.

“You’re not supposed to be on that,” Graeme scolded him from her own desk. “Property of Beacon County Sheriff’s Department, to be used by authorized personnel only. You are not authorized.”

“I have a password.” Granted it wasn’t his password, but it logged him in. “I’m not doing anything untoward. Just checking my email.”

He clicked on a new email from Juice with a subject line of _‘Bestiary Translation.’_ The first sentence answered the question of how Juice had gotten access to the Argent bestiary, since Allison and Scott had refused the share it with them, _‘The cyber-security on Allison’s computer is a joke. So easy to bypass I’m almost insulted.’_ The rest of the email contained the original Latin, as well as its translation. Since Stiles didn’t pay attention when Grandpa Nate had tried to teach him Latin as a child, he ignored the original text in favor of what he could read.

_‘Like the wolf, its power is greatest at the moon’s peak. Like the wolf, the kanima is a social creature, but where the wolf seeks a pack, the kanima seeks a master._

_The kanima, a weapon of vengeance, is used to carry out the bidding of its master. The kanima was once used by a South American priest who took it upon himself to rid his village of all murderers. The bond between master and servant grew stronger until the will of the master became that of the kanima’s and whomever the priest deemed unworthy, the kanima served his vengeance._

_The kanima is a mutation of the werewolf gene that cannot fully transform until it resolves that in its past which manifests it.’_

“So we just need to get Jackson to a good, licensed psychologist for some intense therapy.” Stiles muttered to himself, exhaling loudly. “Sounds easy enough, if we had months or years to work with.”

The squeak of hinges pulled Stiles gaze from the computer screen to see his dad shuffling into the trailer. The older man look worn around the edges, as if he’d aged ten years in the last several hours.

“Deputy Graeme,” His dad offered the woman a tight smile. “They’d like to speak to you now.”

“Oh, okay.” Graeme hesitantly stood from her desk. “Everything okay, boss?”

“Everything’s going to be fine, Tara,” John reassured her. “Go on now.”

Graeme took her time exiting the trailer, as if fearful of what awaited her. Stiles dad moved to his desk, working around Stiles to pick up the framed family photo and chipped mug.

“Okay,” His father nodded, holding the personal items close to his chest. “Let’s go. You gotta get to school.”

“No,” Stiles wasn’t going to budge from the chair until he found out how the meeting had gone. “What’s going on?”

“Everything’s going to be fine, Stiles,” His dad held onto that idea like it was a lifeline, the only thing keeping him on his feet. “I promise.”

“ _’Going to be fine’_ not _‘is fine,’_ ” The word choice was important, as were the items he’d seen his father go into the meeting with and return without. “Where’s your badge and service weapon?”

“Stiles—“

“Dad.”

“I’ve been suspended pending a full investigation into how Jackson became a prisoner in our home,” His dad explained solemnly, rubbing a hand over his stubbly chin. “Deputy Graeme will be stepping in as the interim sheriff until the investigation is complete.”

“But you didn’t do anything,” Even if his bosses thought Stiles was complicit in the crimes, they couldn’t for a second believe his dad was too. “This is because of me. Melissa and Mrs. Argent blame me and your bosses believe them. They’re punishing you because of me. But Dad, I didn’t…I didn’t do it. I swear. I didn’t help them take Jackson, and I didn’t let them into our house. I swear I didn’t, Dad.”

“I know you didn’t, Stiles. I know you didn’t.” His dad reached out his freehand, squeezing Stiles shoulder firmly. “And Jackson is backing you up. In his statement, he said he only had contact with Scott and Allison, and he overheard them discussing how they would convince us to aid them if and when we caught them at our house.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Jackson is not a reliable source of information, victim or not. He has lied in official statements before. He was just in here amending his statement about the Lahey murder, because he lied about seeing Isaac arguing with his father the night he was killed.” The older man acknowledged, resting a hip on the corner of the desk. “They’re not willing to take his word for it. They want proof that you weren’t involved.”

“There is proof.” There had to be or else they were both screwed. “I only went two places yesterday, school and here.”

“And I told them that. They’re gonna talk to your professors to confirm you were there, and pull the parking lot cameras to see what time you arrived and when you left BHCC. They’re even going to check traffic cam footage of your usual route to make sure you didn’t make any pit stops between home and school and school and here.” His dad went over the process the investigators would work with to confirm their story. “All this is gonna be resolved, son. It’s just gonna take a little time.”

“I’m sorry.” Stiles dropped his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

“None of this is your fault, Stiles. None of it. I don’t want you thinking that it is.” His father affectionately carded his fingers over Stiles buzzed hair. “There’s nothing either of us can do here. I want you to go to school, like every other teenager. I’m gonna go see what kind of mess they’ve made of our house.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Stiles wouldn’t doubt that the deputies took extra care not to do any damage when searching their boss’s house. “Does that mean they’re done with it? We can go back in?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” He could take comfort in being able to sleep in his own bed that night. “What do you want me to do when Scott tries to talk to me at school?”

“Walk away.” His dad instructed in his ‘sheriff’ tone. “Don’t talk to him. Don’t listen to him. Don’t engage with him, Allison, or Jackson. Just remain calm and walk away.”

“Remain calm,” That was an awful lot to ask of him. “Tall order.”

“Do your best.”

“I will.” He wouldn’t intentionally make any waves. “Don’t expect any miracles.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

 

Dean never intended to bring Sam along to Charming that morning, but since his days till damnation had dipped below the double digits, he hadn’t been able to shake the kid off with a stick. He couldn’t blame his brother for being clingy, if their roles were reversed he’d probably be the same way. It was just that Sam’s incessant chatter had begun to grate on his nerves.

The entire drive to Charming was filled with Sam’s theories and ideas about how they would get him out of the deal. By the time they reached the city limits, Dean was ready to tuck and roll himself out of the car. Luckily, he managed to refrain from any desperate acts until they were safely parked in TM’s lot.

He barely had the keys out of the ignition before he was jumping out of the car. He barged into the clubhouse looking for either Jax or a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He found one behind the bar, and the other righting toppled over tables and chairs.

“The hell happened here?” Dean asked the other man as he poured himself a drink. “Clean up from last night’s party?”

“Clean up from ATF’s morning raid,” Jax grumbled irritably. “Little early for booze, isn’t it?”

“Not if you just had the same car ride I did,” Dean took a long swig from the tumbler. “God, that’s good. So what did Stahl want?”

“To arrest Bobby Elvis,” Jax sighed, dropping heavily onto a bar stool. “We’ve got the lawyers on it, it should be fine.”

“But?”

“Clay and Tig think Opie has something to do with Bobby’s arrest.” Jax bounced his knee up and down anxiously. “He wasn’t here for the raid. What Bobby was arrested for, he was a part of. No one can get a hold of him or Donna. They think he’s a rat.”

“Opie’s loyal,” Dean may not have known Opie as long as Jax had, but he knew him well enough to know that. “He wouldn’t turn on the club or you. He did five years in prison for you guys.”

“Tig thinks the feds got to him while he was in Stockton,” Jax mentioned. “It’s bullshit. I know it’s bullshit, but if Tig convinces Clay that Opie is behind this—“

“So don’t let him,” Dean knew from experience that Jax could be quite convincing himself. “Prove that Opie is innocent.”

“I’m going to. I’ve just got to find him first.” Jax sagged his shoulders, slumping down in the chair. “What are you doing here anyway? I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“I thought we’d have breakfast,” Hindsight, he probably should have called first. “Don’t have a lot of time, though. Got a case in Beacon Hills.”

“We’re already on a case, Dean, yours” Sam reminded him as he barreled into the clubhouse. “Hey, Jax.”

“Sam,” Jax nodded in greeting. “What care are you talking about? The kanima thing?”

“Yeah, that’s the on-going one, yep,” Dean answered quickly, preventing his brother from speaking without thinking and spilling the beans about the demon deal. “And there’s a new one Bobby just got wind of. I guess even from Sioux Falls he’s keeping a watchful eye on Beacon Hills. Anyway, some banker guy blew his head off, Bobby thinks a spirit is involved.”

“So this morning, at the crack of dawn, that’s what you and Bobby were talking about on the phone?” Sam narrowed his eyes at his big brother. “A _new_ case?”

“No, we were actually talking about our feelings, and then our favorite boy bands,” Dean drawled sardonically. “Yes, we were talking about a case! The banker was talking about some sort of electrical problems at his pad for like a week. Phone was going haywire, computer flipping on and off.”

“Yeah, Dean, I get that there is another case. There is always another case,” Sam remarked exasperatedly. “But we are already on a case, one that has a ticking clock.”

“We’ve been chasing our tails with that, Sam. We’ve talked to every professor, soothsayer, and two bit carny act in the lower 48. Nobody knows squat!” Honestly, Dean was done chasing down false leads. He just wanted to spend his last days doing what he loved. “And we can’t find Bela, Bobby’s network can’t find Bela, and we can’t find the Colt. So until we actually find something, I’d like to do my job...and Jax. Not necessarily in that order.”

“What do Bela and the Colt have to do with the kanima?” Jax interjected, glancing between the brothers.

“Well, there’s one thing we haven’t tried yet. We could— _should_ summon Ruby,” Sam suggested, ignoring Jax entirely. “She said she knows how to save—“

“Well, she can’t.” Dean had known that for some time now. “She told me. Flat out. She can’t save m—the kanima. Nobody can.”

“And you just somehow neglected to mention this to me?” Sam snapped at his brother. “So what, now you’re keeping secrets from me, Dean?”

“You really wanna talk about who’s keeping secrets from who?” Dean shot back, squaring his shoulders in preparation for a fight. “Huh?”

“Okay, I’m starting to think this has nothing to do with the kanima,” Jax murmured to himself, rising from the chair to step between the Winchesters. “Someone want to fill me in?”

“No.” Dean shut him down.

“Let’s just say, I’m not the only one Dean keeps secrets from,” Sam informed Jax, voice dripping with contempt. “I’ll let you talk to him about that. I’ll be in the car.”

“All right,” Jax waited for Sam to be safely out of the clubhouse before turning his imploring gaze on Dean. “You’re keeping things from me, here’s your chance to clear the air.”

“It’s not the right time, Jackson.” Dean didn’t think there would ever be a right time. “I will tell you. I just can’t right now. Maybe when Abel comes home, when things settle, we can sit down and have that conversation, but not now.”

“Don’t use my kid as your excuse.” Jax sneered, nostrils flaring. “Grow a pair and tell me the goddamn truth.”

“I can’t,” Dean wished he had the courage to, but he didn’t. “Not yet. I’m sorry, babe.”

“Then you should go,” Jax decided, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “If you won’t talk to me about whatever is going on, then we don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Jackson, please,” Dean wasn’t sure what he was pleading for, for Jax not to push the subject or for him not to turn Dean away. “Don’t, please.”

“You’ve been holding something back for a while now. I’ve been waiting for you to trust me enough to tell me, to let me help you with whatever it is, but you won’t. And, you know, I’ve always told you more than I should about me and my club, because I trust you.” Jax admitted, holding his gaze so Dean could see the truth of it in his eyes. “You’re hiding things, because you don’t trust me, and I can’t get right with that. If you can’t trust me, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Jax—“

“Just go, Dean,” Jax motioned to the doors. “You got a case anyway, right?”

“Yeah, right,” This conversation felt more important, but Dean could sense that Jax had already shut down on him, and nothing Dean said now would reach him. “I’ll go. I’ll call you later.”

“Don’t bother.”

* * *

 

All Stiles wanted was a quiet, boringly normal day at school. He had a plan and everything. He was going to keep his head down, go to his classes, hideaway in the library during lunch, and he was not going to interact with anyone outside his teachers. Unfortunately, one of his ‘teachers’ happened to be one Sam Winchester, who did not give two fucks about Stiles plans, and had no problem harassing him at his locker after 4th period.

“Hey,” The younger Winchester offered him a smile that could only mean one thing: he wanted something. “I need you to talk to Lydia.”

“You need to take about five steps back,” Stiles pushed his palm forcibly against Sam’s shoulder to regain some of his personal space. “I’m not talking to anyone for anybody. Ask her whatever you want yourself.”

“I would, but I have to supervise Scott’s make-up chemistry exam,” Spewing excuses, it was the Winchester way. “That’s why I need you to ask Lydia about Jackson’s biological parents.”

“You can ask Lydia when you’re done with the test,” It would eliminate Stiles from the proceedings entirely. “It’s that simple, bud.”

“Look, Juice sent me and Dean a bestiary translation this morning—“

“About how the kanima can’t fully transform until the human side gets over its bullshit, blah, blah, blah,” Stiles rolled his eyes as he rooted around his locker, pulling out a book he needed. “I got the same translation. You think his bio-parents are the key to taming the beast.”

“Exactly!” Sam nodded enthusiastically. “So I need you to ask Lydia about them. She and Jackson dated for years. He must have confided in her.”

“I guess you have a solid reason for asking her about them,” Although, Stiles didn’t think she would be very forthcoming with information. “You should go do it.”

“I don’t have the time,” Sam tapped his watch impatiently. “That’s why I need you to do it.”

“Well, I’ve got a lunch date with a stack of school books.” He closed his locker up and fastened the combo-lock securely. “Find yourself another chump.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” Sam towered over him, as if he could intimidate Stiles into doing what he wanted. “Anything that could help us with the kanima—“

“Is not my problem,” Stiles was tired of pretending that it was. “Yours either. Your focus should be on Dean, not mutt-lizard hybrids. Let the wolves handle it. Let ‘em screw up their own lives for a change instead of everyone else’s.”

“Stiles,” Sam pushed him roughly against the bank of lockers, like a bully on a clichéd after-school special. “I need your help. A lot of people could be hurt if we don’t find a way to stop the kanima—to stop Jackson. Your friends could be killed.”

“My friends are all in Charming, and that’s a threat I live with everyday. Before you bring up my dad, he’s no longer on the case, or any other case, for that matter,” Stiles had no soldiers currently in the line of fire. “Everyone I care about is off the battlefield, and so am I. So, you can find someone else to do your bitch work. I’m out.”

Stiles shouldered his way past Sam, lumbering down the hall toward the library, barely making it around the corner before he was slammed violently against yet another row of lockers. He whipped around to face his attacker, only to come face-to-face with the resident she-wolf.

“Why does the Jolly Green Giant want you to talk to Lydia about Jackson’s real parents?” Erica asked, wrapping a hand loosely around his throat. “Hmm?”

“Why are you bringing out the claws on camera?” Stiles referred to the CCTV cams all over the halls. “You wanna play Catwoman, sweetheart, you need a Batman.”

“Volunteering?”

“You’re not my type,” And he didn’t have the broodiness or wealth to be Batman. “You gonna let me go?”

“Not until you tell me what all the interest in Jackson’s bio-parents is about,” The she-wolf tightened the hand around his throat until he could feel her nails pricking his skin. “I overheard Scott asking Lydia about them during first period. She didn’t tell him anything. What’s the big deal, huh?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Stiles shrugged his shoulders. “Now, kindly remove your hand and back the hell off.”

“Or what?” She smirked, a challenging glint to her eyes. “You gonna send your big sister after me again?”

“No, I’m just going to look the other way when the bloodthirsty hunter watching the security cameras fills you full of arrows,” Stiles threatened impassively. “The cameras, Gerard and Victoria taking jobs here, that’s the Argents way of marking their territory. Having your claws on full display in that territory is not a smart move werewolf-Barbie.”

“You know what,” She smiled sweetly for the camera, retracting her claws and moving her hand up from his neck to make a show of caressing his cheek for whoever might be watching. “I used to have the worst crush on you. You never once even noticed me.”

“Am I supposed to apologize for that? Someone liking you doesn’t obligate you to like them back. And you hardly know me now, let alone then,” From what Stiles could remember, prior to all the werewolf crap, they only knew each other in passing. “You liked what you saw, what I wanted people in Beacon Hills to see. That ain’t me. Add that to the list of things you need to learn real quick.”

“You’re an asshole,” Erica criticized, but the grin never left her face. “I like that. I like it a lot.”

“Well, if that’s a quality you’re attracted to, then you’re in luck. There are a lot of assholes in the world.” They were a dime a dozen. “Now, we don’t have anything to discuss, so I think we’re done here.”

“Oh, we have things to discuss. Jackson’s biological parents, they’re about a half-a-mile from here in Beacon Hills cemetery.” Erica reported, continuing to caress his cheek. “My dad was the insurance investigator on the car accident that killed them.”

“Sounds interesting,” Stiles reckoned that was just the kind of information Sam was looking for. “Go tell Sam or your alpha all about it.”

“Oh no,” Erica pursed her lips and shook her head. “I have information, but I’ll only give it to you. You can pass it on to whoever you want.”

“Goddamn it, Erica,” Stiles didn’t give a fuck about Jackson or his childhood trauma, but he couldn’t ignore information that could be useful. “I don’t want any part of this.”

“Too bad,” She dropped her hand from his face and linked their arms together. “We’ll go to the cafeteria and chat about it over lunch.”

“Whatever.”

* * *

 

Jax needed to clear Opie’s name, but he couldn’t do that without Opie. Finding the missing Winston’s wasn’t as easy a feat as he hoped it would be. Donna wasn’t at work, the kids were absent from school, and no one was answering their phones, leaving only one place left to look: their family home.

Opie’s truck was still parked in the driveway when Jax arrived. He couldn’t see anyone through the windows, and the backyard was empty. All Jax could find was a nosy neighbor willing to fill him in on what she had seen.

“Three black sedans pulled up. Headlights woke us,” The woman, a little older than himself, told him. “Must’ve been around 2:30am.”

“Opie taken out in cuffs?” If Bobby was arrested for the Hefner thing, it was safe to reason Opie was too.

“No. He was carrying one of the kids,” The woman nodded to the path leading from the Winston house to the sidewalk. “The whole family left, took bags with them. Opie in trouble again?”

“I don’t know.” At this point, it was the only theory that made sense. “Thanks.”

* * *

 

The case Bobby caught wind of took Dean to an upscale neighborhood in Beacon Hills. With his usual back-up currently preoccupied, he was left to interview the victim’s wife, Mrs. Waters, alone.

“I found him there,” The widow gestured to a spot in the study. “There was blood everywhere. The phone was ripped from the wall, his favorite scotch on the desk. What else could you possibly want to know?”

“Why was the phone ripped from the wall?” It was odd for what appeared to be suicide.

“I don’t know.”

“You mind if I take a look?” He picked up the landline phone and began pressing buttons. “What time did your husband die?”

“Sometime after eleven,” Mrs. Waters replied, tapping her foot impatiently. “I already went over this with the deputies.”

“I know. I’ll be out of your hair in no time, ma’am,” Dean promised, scrolling through the caller ID to see what number may have called or been dialed around that time. “What about strange phone calls? Receive any of those lately, weird interference, static, anything like that?”

“No,” Mrs. Waters huffed, her frustration mounting. “No!”

“Mrs. Waters, withholding information from the police is a capital offense,” Dean declared confidently, only to back track when he saw she wasn’t buying it. “…In some parts of the world, I’m sure. It is a very serious…crime.”

“A couple of weeks ago, uh, I woke up one morning and I heard Ben in his study. I thought he was talking to a woman, because he kept calling her Linda,” Mrs. Waters toyed with the buttons of her blouse. “The thing is, I picked up the other line, and nobody was there. Ben was talking to nobody. It was just static.”

“Did you ever speak to Ben about this phone call?” Dean asked, jotting down the info from the caller ID and setting the phone down on the desk. “Did he ever say who Linda was?”

“What difference does it make?” Mrs. Waters voiced her objections to the line of questioning. “There was nobody on the other end!”

“All right. You’re right. I’m sorry.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I think I have all I need. Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

He smiled cordially and shook her hand as she led him out. He waited until he was in the privacy of the Impala before brandishing his cellphone and calling his brother’s number.

_“Yeah?”_

“Hey, I know you’re on a demon deal kick and busy lending your expertise with the kanima stuff,” Dean wasn’t naïve enough to believe his earlier words would have gotten his brother off the demon deal train. “But I’m probably going to need some help with this case.”

 _“Yeah, I can help in a few hours,”_ Sam replied over the sound of rustling papers. _“After detention.”_

“Detention?”

_“I caught Scott, Jackson, and Allison fighting in the boy’s locker room a few minutes ago. I didn’t want to leave them at the mercy of Principal Argent, so I gave them after school detention. I have to supervise it.”_

“You couldn’t give them lunch detention?”

 _“Lunch has already started. I had to walk them to the cafeteria to make sure they made it there without another incident.”_ Sam complained. _“It has to be after school.”_

“Fine.” If his brother wanted to continue playing teacher, Dean couldn’t stop him. “You know, your little outburst at the clubhouse really fucked things up between me and Jax.”

 _“I’m sorry.”_ Sam apologized, but the sincerity of it was seriously in question. _“It’s past time you told him about the deal.”_

“I tried telling him,” At the diner, on the way to the Morton Mansion hunt, was the closest he’d come to telling Jax the truth. “I couldn’t do it. I can’t do it.”

_“It’ll only make it worse for him if you don’t tell him.”_

“Don’t you think I know that?” The upside to being damned was that he wouldn’t have to witness the fallout to his death. “Look, I gotta go do some research for this case. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

_“See ya later.”_

* * *

 

Stiles sat across from Erica in the cafeteria, absently picking at his food. Erica had more or less dragged him there under the guise of information sharing, yet she had remained mostly silent.

“Well, spit it out,” Stiles prompted the she-wolf to get on with it. “What do you know about Jackson’s parents?”

“They died in a car accident.”

“And your dad was the insurance investigator,” Yeah, they’d been over that part already. “That was your hook, darlin. You want to keep me as your lunch date, you’re going to have to give me more than that.”

“After we learned Jackson was the kanima, I looked through my dad’s files. He keeps everything,” Erica mentioned as she sipped her soda. “Both of his parents were DOA when they got to the hospital the night of June 14th, 1995. Jackson was born June 15th.”

“So he was born via c-section after his mom died.” That was a lonely, horrifying way to come into the world. “It’s terrible, very sad, but I don’t see how it’s helpful.”

“Maybe finding out what caused the accident would be.”

“And what does your dad’s file say about that?” Who knows, maybe it would be helpful to determining who the next victim would be or helping Jackson get over his trauma.

“The cause of the accident was inconclusive,” Erica cocked her head to the side curiously. “Your dad’s a cop, ask him.”

“June of ’95 my dad was still new to Beacon Hills, and was training with K9 unit,” It wasn’t likely his dad would have been involved in the case at all. “And he’s got zero access to case files at the moment. And, you know, I’m done with this kanima/werewolf crap, so you should just tell your alpha all this.”

“You’re out?” She snorted in disbelief. “You?”

“Yeah, me,” He dropped the plastic fork and pushed the tray of food away. “I’m out.”

“Does your BFF Scott know that?” Erica asked, eyeing something over his shoulder. “’Cause he’s coming this way.”

“Great. I’m leaving,” He stood from the table, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “See you around, Catwoman.”

Stiles made it all of two steps away from the lunch table before Scott was just there, standing in front of him with a rueful smile spread across his lips.

“I know you’re mad,” How astute of Scott to notice, it turns out he wasn’t as daft as he appeared. “Let me explain.”

“No,” Stiles would do as his dad told him to and not engage with Scott. “Not now, not today. I’m not in the right frame of mind for this.”

“I’m sorry if you got in trouble because of me and Allison,” Scott looked remorseful, sounded remorseful, but it was hard to believe he actually was. “We were just trying to help. Your house was the safest option.”

“Bullshit.” It was the easy option, not the safest. “Look, I’m not gonna do this with you. An apology doesn’t fix anything.”

“What is there to fix?” Scott’s face twisted in confusion. “I mean, I know Jackson went free, but now we can all keep an eye on him until we find a way to kill him.”

“Kill him?” Well, that was an interesting switch. “I thought you wanted to save him?”

“That was before he attacked Allison in the boy’s locker room.”

“What was Allison doing in the boy’s locker room?” It was an odd place for a girl to be, it being the _boy’s_ locker room and all. “Trying to kill Jackson herself to officially join the family business?”

“Allison wouldn’t hurt anyone, you know that,” The wolf’s eyes tinted yellow at the accusation. “She was just trying to ask him some questions.”

“Yeah, well, if her interrogation technique was anything like her auntie Kate’s, then Jackson’s violent reaction is understandable,” Stiles, for one, couldn’t blame the guy for being temperamental. “Are you going to move so I can leave or do I have to climb over the table?”

“I’m trying to talk to you,” Scott stomped his foot. “I don’t understand why you are so mad. I mean, I get why you’re angry, I’m not an idiot. I just don’t see why you are _this_ angry.”

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem,” Stiles was at a loss to see how one person could be so dense. “And until you get it through your thick skull, I don’t want to speak to you.”

“Stiles—“

“I don’t have the time to talk to you, even if I wanted to,” His schedule was packed pretty tight, thanks to both recent and past events. “’Cause on top of everything else, I have to clean up the mess you and Allison made when you had the bright idea to break into my home with your prisoner.”

“What mess? It’s not like we trashed the place,” Of course, Scott would take what he said in the literal sense, the nimrod. “No one got hurt.”

“No one got hurt,” Stiles rolled the words on his tongue as hot coals of anger settled in his stomach. “You need to walk away from me. Now.”

“I’m sorry that we used your house without permission, it was wrong. I’m sorry if your dad is mad at you because of it,” Scott ducked his head, shifting on his feet nervously. “But aside from the cops showing up, nothing went wrong. Everything’s fine. Nothing bad happened.”

“Walk away, Scott,” Stiles seethed, struggling to rein in the urge to dole out violence or go on a long-winded rant. “Final warning.”

“Stiles!” Scott snarled, kicking the table leg and earning the attention of most, if not all, of the kids in the cafeteria. “Would you listen to what I’m trying to tell you? Nothing bad happened. No one got hurt. Everything is fine!”

With each false claim, Stiles reached a new level of rage he’d never felt before. He let anger fuel his movements as he snatched a lunch tray off the table, dumping the contents onto the floor. He smashed the tray harshly against the side of Scott’s face, relishing in the way the thick plastic cracked at the contact, the _boom_ and _snap_ of it echoing through the cafeteria.

“My dad is probably going to get fired because of you,” Stiles growled, dropping the tray back on the table. “So nothing is fine, someone did get hurt.”

* * *

 

Despite having his own safe house apartment, Dean still chose to use Derek’s loft to work on his research. The alpha seemed to be getting used to it, only rolling his eyes and clearing a space on the couch when he saw Dean coming. They had moved passed Derek just disappearing when someone invaded his home, and Dean took the wolf’s newfound comfort as consent to chat idly with him about the cases he was working.

“Dude, Linda was a babe,” Dean whistled, scrolling down a webpage on the laptop. “Or, was.”

“Linda?” Derek opted to play along, asking questions in the right places, even if he wasn’t at all interested.

“Linda Bateman. She’s the chick the victim, Ben Waters, was talking to on the phone,” Who he thought he was talking to anyway. “They were high school sweethearts until a drunk driver hit them head on. Ben walked away, Linda didn’t.”

“So, what was with the calls?” Derek asked, flipping aimlessly through a book. “Just a dead girlfriend wanting to catch up on old times?”

“You would think, but Linda was cremated, there’s no way her spirit’s floating around making calls,” It was more likely something or someone else hitting Ben up. “There was something hinky about the number she was calling from too.”

“Hinky?” Derek faltered at the word choice. “What does that mean?”

“Well, the number was _SHA33_ ,” Not the kind of phone number Dean had ever come across previously. “It’s about a century old, dates back to when phones had cranks.”

“Interesting way to reach out and touch someone,” Derek commented blithely. “What do you do with that? Trace the number to find out who was really calling your victim?”

“I don’t even know if a number that old can be traced or how to go about it,” It sure as hell wasn’t something Dean could do on his own laptop. “I’ll have to go directly to the phone company and see what they can tell me. Want to come and help me out?”

“Nope,” Derek shook his head. “Isaac’s been on me to train him and the others. I’ll be busy with that this afternoon.”

“Yeah, you really should get on that before the full moon,” That didn’t necessarily mean Dean had to go about the case all on his own. “I’ll text Stiles, get him to help. Maybe he can help me smooth things over with Jax too.”

“I wouldn’t count on it, but good luck.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

 

Following his altercation with Scott in the cafeteria, Stiles was escorted to Principal Argent’s office, where Gerard proceeded to phone his father and Ms. McCall. While he waited for the parents to arrive, he invoked his customary right to remain silent, not willing to give the Argent patriarch anything but his insolence. He was glaring daggers at the principal and receiving a sneer in return when his father and Ms. McCall were led in by the school secretary.

“You okay, son?” His dad gripped his chin lightly, inspecting him for wounds.

“I’m peachy,” He was physically unharmed, as Scott had been too shocked by his actions to retaliate.

“Where's Scott?” Mellissa questioned Principal Argent, choosing to stand beside the door instead of sitting down. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He was taken to the nurse’s office, but we all know that’s a formality. He’s perfectly fine.” Gerard brushed off any concern for Scott’s wellbeing. “When he’s finished with that, he will go to the library to begin his after school detention early.”

“Detention?” Melissa bristled. “He’s the victim.”

“The detention is for an earlier altercation in the boy’s locker room with Jackson Whittemore.” Gerard gazed judgmentally at the mother. “Your son seems to have a short fuse and a quick temper, Ms. McCall.”

“Only when dealing with idiots.” Melissa countered dismissively.

“You’d think he’d be used to it with you and Rafael for parents.” Stiles remarked callously.

“Stiles!” His father chastised him. “I know you’re upset, but the attitude is not helping.”

“Can we cut the crap, please,” The last thing Stiles wanted to do was waste time on useless chitchat when they could just get on with it. “This little meeting is like Scott’s trip to the nurse – it’s a formality. Nothing is going to be solved here. It’ll end with me getting a week’s suspension, no more, no less.”

“You’ve been in this office enough with my predecessor to know the procedure. I’m impressed.” Gerard appeared more amused than anything. “But are you that certain it will turn out how you expect?”

“You’re going to suspend me – you can’t not. Melissa’s gonna get all huffy, demand my expulsion, citing the sun shines out of her son’s ass, so anyone who does him harm should be sentenced to death. My dad will jump to my defense, admitting what I did was wrong, but it wasn’t without provocation, and it isn’t worth expulsion,” Knowing both parties well, Stiles could accurately predict how their argument would commence. “Melissa’s hackles will rise. She’ll say some shit about how her baby boy can do no wrong. My dad will call bullshit—her kid did just break into our house and kept a classmate prisoner. You’re going to watch their back and forth like a tennis match, while I sit here fuming and waiting for my inevitable suspension.”

“My son was right about you,” Gerard noted approvingly, eyes lit up with something Stiles refused to identify. “You are an interesting specimen.”

“' _Specimen_ ,'” Well, no one had referred to Stiles quite like that before and he hoped no one would again. “My creeped out factor just went through the roof.”

“Yeah, mine too. We’re gonna go,” His dad decided abruptly, pulling Stiles up and out of his chair. “One week of suspension, right?”

“I suppose that would be sufficient.” Gerard agreed with a nod. “Any more fights upon his return to school and we may very well be looking at expulsion.”

“Understood.”

Stiles father guided him out of the office with a paternal hand to his shoulder. Stiles wanted to blame the silence that fell between them on the cameras in the school hallways and his dad not wanting anyone to overhear the conversation they needed to have, but he knew that was only part of it. By the time they made it out of the school and across the parking lot, Stiles couldn’t take the tension anymore.

“Dad,” Stiles broke the heavy silence, feeling like a five year old about to get put in time out for breaking his mom’s favorite vase. “Are you mad at me?”

“No. No, Stiles, I’m not mad.” The ‘just disappointed’ was unsaid but heard loud and clear all the same. “As wrong as it is to say, I know Scott deserved what you did to him, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

“I know,” He’d been taught that fighting was wrong and only acceptable if it were an act of self-defense. “Am I grounded?”

“One week, like your suspension.” His dad responded, taking his cellphone from his pocket to check any messages he may have received while in the short meeting. “I have a text from Juice asking me to come to Charming. Do you want to go with me?”

“Not really,” Stiles already had other plans. “I got a message from Dean before I got to Gerard’s office. He could use a hand on a local case. Can I help him out?”

“If I say no, you’ll do it anyway,” His dad grumbled, pocketing his phone. “We’re going to talk about what happened between you and Scott, and go over the stipulations of your groundation, when we both get home tonight. Got it?”

“Got it.”

* * *

 

“Hey, thanks for coming,” Juice greeted Sheriff Stilinski with an awkward wave. “I didn’t really know who else to call.”

“What’s the problem, Juan Carlos?” John asked, joining Juice at the back gates of TM. “Your message seemed urgent.”

“Yeah, I, um, I wanted to get your opinion on something before I took it to the club,” Juice fidgeted with the paperwork in his hands. “Didn’t feel comfortable doing it over the phone.”

“What is it?”

“ATF raided the clubhouse this morning, arrested Bobby Elvis. The only person who wasn’t here was Opie. Jax went by his place, no one was there. A neighbor said a couple SUV’s picked up Ope, Donna, and the kids late last night.” It was all very suspect, to say the least. “Some club members have floated the idea that it’s not a coincidence, that maybe Opie turned rat, maybe he’s been on the ATF’s payroll since he was in prison.”

“I’m sure I can guess which members,” John clucked, sending a subtle look in the direction of SAMCRO’s headquarters. “They can’t act without proof, right?”

“Clay asked me to look into Opie’s finances,” Juice handed over the printouts of the Winston’s bank statements. “Someone paid off a huge chunk of his debt.”

“That’s pretty damning evidence _, if it’s true_.” John took extra care to stress that last part. “There is a strong possibility the ATF is just trying to paint Opie as a rat to cause chaos in the ranks. He’s the perfect mark. He’s the son of one of the First Nine, the best friend of the VP, and he did five years for the club. If anyone had a reason to turn on SAMCRO it’s him, and the ATF knows that.”

“But Opie’s not a rat. I don’t believe he is, neither does Jax.” Juice had known Opie since he was seventeen, the older man was nothing if not loyal. “It’s gotta be the feds screwing with us.”

“I agree,” John seconded his opinion. “Have you shown these bank statements to anyone else?”

“Only Jax,” He was the only one, besides John, that Juice felt comfortable sharing that information with. “I wanted to talk to you first, see if there was a chance you could talk to some people, give me a guarantee to take back to the table. An assurance from a credible source can go a long way.”

“Clay would never accept me as a credible source, because I’m a cop.” John’s connection to Gem might have a little something to do with Clay not trusting him. “Do you have any idea what you are asking me to do? I get proof Opie is loyal, Clay will think I’m lying to protect Opie. I get proof he’s turned rat, I’ll be signing his death warrant.”

“But we know he’s not a rat,” All they needed was physical proof of what they already knew to be true. “Look, you get the proof, I take it to Jax, Jax uses it to convince Clay—“

“Jax can’t convince Clay of anything. It’s about time you learned that, son,” John retorted, resting his hands on his hips. “Juan Carlos, Opie has been a brother to my son since the day he was born. Hell, I’ve known Ope since he was born, I even babysat him a couple times. Whatever answer I come back with puts his life in danger, and I will not do that.”

“We can’t just do nothing!”

“I cannot bring you back proof of what Opie is and isn’t, but I will go talk to the ATF, see if they are the ones who even have Opie,” John compromised with him. “If they have him, I will remind them how dangerous it is to play this game with someone like Opie. He was born into this life, he didn’t choose it, and he would die before he ratted. Clay _chose_ the club, he doesn’t understand how deep Opie’s loyalty runs, and he will kill him out of fear. So, I’ll remind Stahl that Opie is no use to her dead, she can’t make her case with a corpse.”

“Okay,” If that was all he could do, then it was all he could do, and Juice couldn’t request anything more of him. “What about me? What do I do with the bank statements? Clay’s going to want them.”

“You’re goddamn right about that,” Clay snarled, striding up from behind Juice, Tig at his side. “You can give me the back statement, then explain why you’re taking club business to a fucking cop.”

“Hey! He’s only looking out for a friend,” John grabbed a handful of Juice’s kutte, pulling the kid behind him protectively. “He’s trying to prevent you from making a mistake that would destroy the club you claim to care about. Leave him alone.”

“Juice, the club, that’s my business, not yours, Stilinski.” Clay thrust a finger to John’s chest. “Now get the hell off my property.”

“Technically, I’m on TM’s property, which Gemma has a pretty big stake in. Gemma, your wife, who I have a child with, has always told me I am more than welcome here  if we needed to discuss our son, or if I needed my car fixed,” John found a loophole to undermine Clay’s order. “She and I need to talk about our son’s recent suspension from school. So I won’t step foot the clubhouse Piney and JT built from the ground up, that you think belongs to you, but I will be in the TM office, with your wife. Sound good?”

“Dude,” Juice hastily jumped between John and Clay before the latter could start throwing punches. “This is about proving Opie innocent. It’s not a pissing contest over Gem.”

“You should never have opened your big mouth about Opie to him or anyone else, idiot,” Tig berated, swatting Juice on the back of the head. “The hell you thinking? Huh? You keep your fucking mouth shut, always.”

“I was trying to help Opie.” Juice wasn’t going to apologize for that, even if it got him into trouble.

“We’ll talk about it later. Get in the clubhouse and get back to work,” Clay barked, giving Juice a good shove, then setting his sights on John. “Didn’t I tell you to get the fuck out of here?”

“Sure did,” John nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. “Like I told you, I’ll be in the office with Gemma, discussing our son. You got a problem with that?”

“No,” Clay ground out through gritted teeth. “Not that it would matter if I did.”

“Aw, you’re finally catching on,” John drawled condescendingly. “Good for you.”

* * *

 

Stiles didn’t feel much like small talk when he joined Dean at the phone company, choosing to follow silently and allow the hunter to take the lead. He managed only a nod when introduced to the phone company manager, Clark, which seemed to strike a chord with Dean.

“Hey,” Dean squeezed his shoulder as they trailed the manager down a flight of stairs to the basement. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged off the older man’s hold. “I’m fine.”

“We don’t get many folks from HQ down here,” Clark mentioned, descending the last two steps. “But the man you want to be speaking to is right this way.”

“I think the person we should be talking to is a health inspector,” Stiles groused, batting flies away from his face. “It smells like something’s rotting down here.”

“I know, sorry,” Clark frowned. “We’ve got something of a hygiene issue down here, if you ask me.”

Clark led them down the hall to the basement office to show them exactly what he’d meant by ‘hygiene issue.’ Chips, candy, soft drinks, and various other junk foods were strewn around the room, covering the desk, computer consoles, and keyboards. The mess seemed to encompass the technician, who was busy trying to close down the porn sites spread open across the dual monitors in front of him.

“Spam, spam,” The tech clicked the mouse so forcefully that Stiles was surprised it didn’t break into pieces. “Spam, spam, spam.”

“Stewie Myers,” Clark introduced the technician. “This is Mr. Campbell and Mr. Raimi, from headquarters.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stewie spun around in his chair, folding his hands together on his lap. “Sure.”

“I’ll be upstairs if you need anything else,” Clark wasted no time pivoting on his feet and retreating from the foul smelling office.

“So,” Stewie crossed and uncrossed his legs conspicuously. “Can I help you?”

“Is that, uh, the _Busty Asian Beauties_ website?” Dean asked, gesturing to the voluptuous, bare-skinned woman displayed on a monitor. “A word to the wise? Platinum membership? Worth every penny.”

“We’re here to work, not bond over cheap porn,” Stiles elbowed the hunter and held out a slip of paper to the tech. “We need you to trace this number.”

“Where did you get this?” Stewie scrutinized the phone number. “This is, like, impossible.”

“We got it off a caller ID,” Dean revealed. “It hasn’t been used in a few years, we know.”

“A few years?” Stewie scoffed. “It’s prehistoric. Trust me, nobody is using this number anymore.”

“If that were true, we wouldn’t be here,” Stiles refuted the claim. “Run it anyway.”

“Sure. Why don’t I just rearrange my whole life first?” Stewie squawked, turning to face his computer console but making no move to do what was asked of him.

“Listen, uh, Stewie,” Dean leaned in, speaking directly into the tech’s ear. “You got like six kinds of employee code violations down here, not to mention the sickening porn that is clogging up your hard drive. Now when my partner says run the number, I suggest you run the number.”

“Okay, whatever, jeez!” Stewie gave in, inputting the number on his computer until his screen displayed a list of addresses. “Holy crap.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you where the number comes from, but I can tell you where it’s been going,” Stewie clicked the _print_ icon on the screen. “Ten different places in the past few weeks all got calls from the same number.”

“Good work, Stewie,” Stiles praised the tech, snagging the paper from the printer. “This we can work with.”

“So, are we done here?” Stewie questioned, fingers twitching over the keyboard. “’Cause I was…sort of…busy.”

“Right.” Dean chuckled knowingly. “We’ll leave you to it.”

Stiles scanned the list as he and Dean climbed the stairs to the main floor of the building. He wasn’t quite sure if finding someone he knew on the list was a good thing or not.

“I recognize one of these names, Tate,” Stiles passed the list over to the hunter. “I went to school with the older daughter, Malia, before she was killed.”

“Killed,” Dean pushed open the entrance doors so they could exit. “Foul play?”

“Car accident. Malia, her little sister, and her mom were on their way home when they ran off the road,” Why they ran off the road was still up for debate. “Back then, I overheard Dad telling the deputies that coyotes had gotten a hold of them after the wreck. Malia’s body was the only one never found. I guess the coyotes….”

“Brutal,” Dean grimaced. “The father remarry?”

“No. Mr. Tate’s kind of a recluse. Still lives in the family home out in the preserve. Rumor is he spends all his time out there hunting coyotes to avenge his girls,” No one could fault the guy for going off the reservation after losing his entire family. “I know you’ll want to interview everyone on this list, but maybe save Mr. Tate for last. Someone like that…fragile and trigger happy….”

“It’s out in the sticks anyway. We can save him for last.” Dean agreed as his cellphone rang, prompting him to remove it from his jacket pocket to check the caller ID. “It’s Sammy.”

“He’s supposed to be supervising detention,” Or so Stiles had heard. “Something go wrong?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Dean murmured, pressing the answer button. “What’s going on Sammy? / No shit. / Fuck. / He’s with me. / I kinda need him. We have a list of people we need to talk to. / What, he wants Stiles specifically? He won’t let you help? / Okay, I guess we can switch you two out. / See you in a bit.”

“You are not switching me and Sam out,” Stiles would work Dean’s case or no case at all. “He’s on the lizard/werewolf watch. I am done with that kind of bullshit.”

“The kanima attacked the school library during detention,” Dean willfully ignored Stiles objections. “That Erica girl got hurt.”

“That’s terrible, but she’s a tough girl, werewolf healing and all that. She’ll be fine.” Stiles felt bad for her, but she had a pack to look after her. “I’m sure Derek has rallied his troops to stand guard at her bedside until she’s back on her feet.”

“Derek wants to talk to you at the subway car,” Dean said, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “He needs some advice.”

“I’m fresh out,” Any advice he did have, he was certain Derek wouldn’t want to hear. “You know who always acts like he knows what’s best for everyone? Sam. I’m sure he would happy to give Derek advice.”

“Derek wants advice on this particular subject from you,” Dean tapped his foot on the sidewalk like a disappointed father waiting a stubborn child to come around. “You have to talk to him, you have a responsibility.”

“To who?”

“To this town, the people in it,” The hunter’s voice hardened as he struggled to make Stiles understand. “Beacon Hills is your town, like Charming is Jax’s and the clubs. Jax and the club protect Charming, keep it safe from outside forces—“

“They don’t, but they act like they do,” SAMCRO was the biggest threat to Charming’s safety, not that Stiles would be the one to tell them that. “What’re you getting at, Dean?”

“Beacon Hills is your town. Yours, Derek’s, your dad’s. You live in this town, you know its secrets, what goes bump in the night, and how to handle it. You have an obligation to protect the people who don’t know shit.” Dean stormed on, trying to get his point across in way that would resonate. “You’ve got all kinds of shit trying to bring _your_ town to its knees. Are you really going to let it because you’re pissed off?”

“Maybe,” The dark part of Stiles wanted to say ‘fuck it’ and let it all burn. “Yeah.”

“All right. Fine. Then go help Derek because I’m asking. Consider it my dying wish,” Dean was definitely pulling out the big guns now. “Help Derek become the alpha Beacon Hills needs him to be.”

“Dying wish,” The words felt like acid on Stiles tongue. “Fuck you, Dean. Sam, Bobby, and I have spent months trying to get you out of this deal, but you gave up the second you made it.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t want to die, but if I do, I need to know the people I care about are taken care of, and that includes Derek.” Hints of desperation leaked into Dean’s voice as he pleaded with Stiles. “If I survive, consider the wish null and voice. Until then, I need you to do this for me. Please, do this for me.”

“Fine. I will meet Derek at the subway car.” Stiles surrendered, hunching his shoulders in defeat. “You pull this dying wish shit on me again and I’ll be the one to put you in the ground, not some demon deal.”

“Fair enough.”

* * *

 

Talking with folks from the list Stewie had given him was quick process after Dean had assigned Sam five of the addresses. Together they were able to knock most of the interviews out in half the time it would have taken Dean to do it on his own. The interviews themselves didn’t last very long either, seeing as no one was willing to cop to anything out of the ordinary going on in their homes.

One of Dean’s last stops was to a house the ghost caller had phoned ten times over the course of a week. The father of the house denied any strange occurrences, stating there were no dropped calls, static, or odd voices on the line. The daughter, Lanie, on the other hand, told a different story when she cornered Dean by the Impala as he was preparing to leave.

“You asked my dad if he’s been hearing weird voices on the phone,” The teenager chewed her bottom lip nervously. “I think, maybe…maybe I’ve been talking on the phone…with my mom.”

“That’s not so weird, is it?” Or, maybe it was, it’s not like Dean was privy to Lanie’s home situation.

“She’s dead,” Lanie confessed, dropping her gaze to the sidewalk. “Like three years now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He understood her pain better than most. “How often has she called you?”

“A few times. It started a week ago,” Lanie admitted. “I thought I was, like, crazy or something.”

“You’re not crazy. I can promise you that.” She was being targeted, screwed with, and Dean intended to put a stop to it. “You’re gonna have to take my word on that.”

“I’ll try.”

“I’m going to give you my number, and my partners,” Dean scribbled his and Sam’s numbers on a sheet in his notepad a tore it out. “If you hear from your mom again, I want you to call one of us. Whoever is closest will come help you out.”

“You’re not really with the phone company,” Lanie deduced, accepting the paper from him. “You’d have business cards, and wouldn’t be wearing such a cheap suit.”

“Phone company or not, I do want to help,” There was nothing he or anyone else could do until they figured out who was making the calls and why. “You keep those numbers close. Don’t hesitate to call.”

“Okay,” Lanie nodded, stepping back onto the front lawn. “Thanks.”

Dean gave her a short wave goodbye as he folded himself into the Impala. He dumped his notepad on the passenger seat and took his cellphone from his pocket, dialing his brother for a quick check in.

_“Yeah?”_

“Dude, stiffs are calling people all over town.”

 _“Yeah, tell me about it_ ,” Sam released a drawn out sigh. _“I just spoke to an 84yr old grandmother who’s having phone sex with her husband, who died in Korea.”_

“Sorta redefines your understanding of the word ‘necrophilia’, doesn’t it?” Dean joked. “So, what the hell do we think is going on here, Sammy?”

 _“I don’t know, but we’d better find out soon. This place has enough problems with werewolves and kanimas, it doesn’t need to be spook central too,”_ Sam acknowledged. _“Hey, I’ve got one more interview. I’ll call you later.”_

“Yep.” No sooner did Dean hang up with his brother did his phone immediately signaled another incoming call. “Yeah, what?”

 _“Dean,”_ Even through the static and distortion, that deep, gruff voice was so eerily familiar that it startled Dean to the point where he was sure his heart stopped beating. _“Dean, is that you?”_

“Dad?”

* * *

 

The decrepit subway platform was a bit more crowded than Stiles was accustomed to. He could usually count on Derek and a singular beta lurking around, but this time all three betas were present. Erica was lying prone on the floor, cradling her arm to her chest. Boyd and Isaac were at her side, wearing identical expressions of concern. Scott was an unforeseen anomaly, sticking out like sore thumb as he stood off in the corner.

“When the kanima attacked in the library, he sliced Erica’s neck, infected her with the toxin,” Derek explained, coming to stand at Stiles side. “She had a bad reaction to it, sent her into a seizure. I had to break her arm to jump-start her healing.”

“I’m sure that was a real hardship for you.” Stiles deadpanned. “She got hit with the kanima venom the other night at the McCall house. She didn’t have a bad reaction to it then. Gotta love the supernatural’s complete lack of consistency.”

“Yeah,” Derek crossed his arms over his chest. ”Wasn’t sure you’d show up. Word on the street is you’re out of the kanima game.”

“I don’t want to be here. Dean blackmailed me.” How could he say ‘no’ when Dean played the dying wish card? “So, let’s get this over with. What do you want?”

“Scott—“

“All yours.” Stiles wouldn’t claim Scott as anything but a former friend who was teetering dangerously over the enemy line. “You get his mom and Allison in that deal too. And there’s ‘no returns’ policy.”

“After what happened at the school today, Scott came to me, suggest a temporary alliance. He wants to work together to neutralize the kanima,” The alpha reported. “What do you think?”

“I think every time we’ve brought up the idea of working together – generally when in the midst of all hell breaking loose – he spits in our faces and runs off with the Argents.” Just the other night Stiles had tried to convince Scott to help him and Sam with the kanima, and Scott had decided breaking into Stiles house with Allison was a better option. “If you are even considering this, I’d highly suggest having your head examined.”

“Yeah, well, with everything going on in this town, we could use an extra hand,” Derek would’ve sounded diplomatic if that helping hand didn’t belong to Scott. “He’s the only one offering to be that extra hand.”

“I can tell you from experience that his helping hand will stab you in the back, repeatedly,” Stiles had freshly open wounds to prove it. “And not just yours, either. He will shaft everyone around you. Trust me on that.”

“You know, he can hear you.”

“Good.” Stiles was way past keeping his mouth shut to spare someone’s feelings. “He can hear me, but he’s not over here making excuses or pleading his bullshit case. I’ll take that to mean he’s learned something.”

“It could mean I told him to keep his distance while you were here,” Derek mused, shrugging his shoulders. “I wanted your opinion on him helping out, not to see you sock him like Erica said you did at school today.”

“I didn’t sock him. I hit him with a lunch tray.” If he’d used his fists, he would have broken his hand. “If that doesn’t tell you how I’d feel about your little team up, then maybe you should take what B said into account.”

“B?” Derek furrowed his brows. “Your imaginary friend from the pool?”

“When you say it like that, it makes me sound nuts,” Crazy was just too bland a term for Stiles to accept as a descriptor for his personality. “And I’m not the only one who saw him that night, so he’s your imaginary friend now too.”

“Okay. Whatever.” Derek rolled his eyes. “What about what he said? The false prophet thing?”

“No,” Although, at some point, they really should carve out the time to dig deeper into that. “The ‘Scott can’t be trusted’ part.”

“I’m not talking about trusting him, just working with him,” Derek corrected the assumption. “He’d be supervised by a pack member at all times.”

“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” Stiles didn’t have the energy to change it either. “It’s a big risk, exercise extreme caution.”

“I will.” Derek relaxed, mistaking Stiles concession for approval. “If we need it, are you going to help out?”

“I guess,” He highly doubted they would let him say no. “Work up a plan and call me when you’re ready to execute it. Until then, I’ll be at home.”

Stiles took the stairs up from the subway two at a time, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible. He hesitated at the top, expecting to hear the telltale plodding of footsteps following him, but surprisingly there were none. They only audible sounds around him were the whir of tires on asphalt nearby and the buzzing of his phone.

“Oh, what now,” He ripped the device from his pocket with more force than necessary and bringing it to his ear. “What?”

 _“Hello, little brother.”_ A child-like voice greeted from the other end of the line.

“Little…” Only grown men of SAMCRO had ever referred to Stiles that way, not children. “Who is this?”

 _“You know who I am, silly,”_ The boy giggled. _“Hasn’t our big brother told you about me?”_

“Our big brother,” Stiles felt his legs go out from under him, he had to brace himself on the stairwell handrail to keep upright. “Thomas.”

 _“You think about me a lot,”_ The boy said confidently. _“Like Jackie. He thinks about me a lot too.”_

“Jesus. Y-You can’t be real,” Stiles stammered, fighting to hold on to a sense of logic rather than give into the thing impersonating his dead brother. “T-This isn’t real. I know this isn’t real. Y-You’re not real.”

 _“If I’m not real, why are you still talking to me?”_ Fake-Thomas asked, more curious than accusatory. _“Why don’t you hang up the phone?”_

“I don’t know.” The logical thing would be to hang up, to call Dean, and find out what the hell was going on, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “W-What do you want?”

_“To see you. Do you want to see me?”_

“Yes.”

* * *

 

“Dad?” Sam gaped, his leg bouncing under the table. “You really think it was Dad?”

“I don’t know,” Dean hoped it was, despite his better judgment. “Maybe.”

“Well, what did he say?” His little brother asked, eyes wide in rapt attention. “What did he sound like?”

“Like Oprah!” Dean snarked, pacing the length of the loft. “Like Dad, he sounded like Dad. All he said was my name before the call dropped.”

“Why would he even call in the first place, Dean?”

“I don’t know, man. Why are ghosts calling anyone in this town?” That was the million-dollar question. “But I mean, other people are hearing from their loved ones, why can’t we? It’s at least a possibility, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded slowly, as if unsure. “I guess?”

“Okay, so what if…what if it really is Dad? What happens if he calls back?” Dean couldn’t think past answering the phone and hearing his father’s voice again. “What do I say?”

“Hello.”

“ _Hello?_ That’s what you come back with. _Hello_?” Dean scoffed, resisting the urge to pop his little brother. “Whatever. Look, did you find anything to explain the ghost calls?”

“After what felt like hours of searching,” Sam made a show of cracking his stiff knuckles. “I have found no reason why anything supernatural – besides the werewolf stuff—would be going on here.”

“You’d think a Stanford education and a high school hook-up rate of zero-point-zero would produce better results than that,” Dean took a folded up pamphlet from his back pocket and dropped it on the table. “Well, chin up, buttercup, you’ve just been looking in the wrong place. I found that on the ‘local attractions’ rack at the gas station.”

“A Thomas Edison exhibit at the local museum,” Sam read off the cover of the pamphlet. “Where Edison’s spirit phone is currently being showcased, for a limited time only.”

“Apparently, it was one of Edison’s final inventions. He thought it could be used to communicate with the dead,” Dean may have taken some initiative and googled it before he returned to the loft. “The phone number that keeps popping up, SHA33, is over 100yrs old, right? Right around the time that spirit phone thing was built.”

“Yeah, but why would it all of a sudden start working now?”

“I don’t know. But as long as the mouldy are calling the freshers around here, it’s the best reason we’ve got.” It’s not like they had any other leads to go on. “If the spirit phone is behind this then maybe…maybe it really is Dad calling.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Sam pursed his lips, concern in his tone. “I guess we should go check it out, see if the EMF picks anything up.”

“Yep.”

* * *

 

John had spent more time at TM then he needed to, but it was worth it to see the pinched look on Clay’s face whenever he glanced into the office to find John and Gemma engrossed in conversation. Of course, sticking around wasn’t just about annoying Clay, it was also a place to hang out while he waited for a contact at the ATF to get back to him with Opie’s location. As it turned out, he didn’t need a call back from his inside man to locate the missing Winston, only the family matriarch, Piney’s former wife, Mary, who showed up at TM just as John was fixing to leave.

“Hello, Mary,” He greeted the older woman with a kiss to the cheek. “You looking for Opie?”

“No, I’ve got a pretty good idea where he is, where the whole family is,” Mary commented, pulling her jean jacket tighter around herself. “Got a call from the feds asking me to pick up my grandkids from the Department of Justice facility in Stockton. I can’t get a hold of Piney. Thought Gemma might shed some light on why I’m schlepping my ass seventy-five miles.”

“Opie getting picked up by the feds is why I’m here. As far as I know, Opie’s not in trouble,” He doubted that would be much of a reassurance to her. “It’s just a power play by the ATF.”

“You let the club rope you into this?” She scowled disapprovingly. “I know Stiles wouldn’t put you between SAMCRO and the feds for anyone, even his brothers.”

“Juice called me. He was afraid Clay might suspect the worst, and thought I could put that fire out,” Unfortunately, his presence only added fuel to the flames. “And it’s not like I had anything better to do.”

“You got the day off from work or something?”

“Suspended until further notice, actually,” He would have preferred the day off. “I was suspended from work and my son was suspended from school. We’re having a great week at the Stilinski house.”

“Maybe the Stilinski’s aren’t the problem, maybe it’s that town,” Mary remarked thoughtfully. “You ever think about moving back home?”

“Sometimes,” He’d be lying if he said thoughts of returning to Charming on a permanent basis hadn’t crossed his mind. “More than a few times as of late.”

“Well, Charming P.D. currently has an opening for chief. David Hale has stepped up for the time being, but word is they’re not quite ready to officially promote him. They want someone with more experience, like you,” Mary rubbed his arm affectionately. “You can move home, take up your daddy’s mantle as chief, and Stiles can spend more time with his family before he goes off to college.”

“It’s a tempting offer,” One he might even seriously consider. “My dad left some big shoes to fill, though.”

“Unser could never manage it, didn’t even try. He let his friendship with Gemma determine what kind of cop he was gonna be: a bad one,” Mary had no qualms about speaking ill of the dead. “Your father never let his relationship with Piney skew his morals. If he had, I think Piney might have ended up more like Clay and JT. Having the chief of police in his pocket would have turned him into something he wasn’t.”

“Yes, it would have.” JT and Clay always acted under the assumption that having a cop on their side made them invincible, above the law, and with Unser that was pretty much true.

“Your daddy kept Piney grounded, made sure he didn’t step too far over the line. He kept that darkness from destroying everything good inside him.” Mary sighed, a haunted expression clouding her face. “It could’ve been different. Things could’ve gone the other way between Piney and your dad after JT and Clay took you, tried to use you to force your daddy to get on board with club business.”

“Well, when Piney found out they had me up at the cabin, he came to get me. He took me home to my dad.” It was a long, terrifying few days from John’s adolescents that he would rather not relive. “He even followed me home after school every day until I graduated, in case anyone from the club tried to pull that stunt again.”

“Back then, Piney and your dad were able to keep the club from doing too much damage to Charming and itself,” Mary noted. “You could do the same here, working with Jax, Opie, and Piney. You can help them put a stop to what Clay and JT started when Unser was chief. You can make Charming a safe place to live again.”

“You’re laying it on a little thick there, but I’ll think about it.”

“See that you do,” She advised him. “I may not live here anymore, but my son and grandkids do. Kids deserve to grow up feeling safe.”

“That’s why I chose to raise Stiles in Beacon Hills instead of moving back home after he was born.” Looking back now, the change of location didn’t make much of a difference, safety wise. “Now, I’m thinking it doesn’t much matter where we live, danger will always be a factor.”

“Yeah, well, most people don’t have to worry about _these_ kinds of dangers.”

“That’s true.” Motorcycle gangs and werewolves were not things normal folks had to assimilate into their daily lives. “Maybe I’ll go by Charming PD, just to see how things are going now that David Hale is interim chief.”

“Pick up an application while you’re there,” Mary instructed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “David’s not ready to be chief, you are.”

“We’ll see.”

* * *

 

“Ring,” Dean willing the cellphone locked in his grip. “Come on. Ring, goddamn it.”

He’d been standing on the loft’s balcony waiting for another call from the great beyond since he and Sam returned from the pointless trip to the museum. Learning Edison’s spirit phone was not behind the mysterious calls didn’t deter Dean any, he still fully believed it was his dad he’d spoken to, who he wanted so badly to speak to again.

“Please,” Dean needed it to be his father, he couldn’t let it be anything or anyone else. “Dad, please.”

Suddenly, as if his prayers had been heard, his cellphone began to vibrate and _SHA33_ appeared on the caller ID.

“Dad?” Dean couldn’t hide the eagerness in his tone even if he tried. “Is it really you?”

_“Yeah, Dean, it’s me.”_

“How can I be sure?” As much as he wanted to believe it was his father, he had to err on the side of caution.

 _“You can’t,”_ The man with his father’s voice admitted. _“Dean, how could you do it? How could you sell your soul?”_

“I was looking after Sam,” He’d traded his soul for Sam’s life, ensuring his brother’s survival for however long. “Like you told me to.”

 _“I never wanted this. Never. You’re my boy, I love you,”_ His dad’s breath hitched. _“I can’t watch you go to Hell, Dean.”_

“I’m sorry,” There was nothing Dean hated more than disappointing his family, especially his dad. “I don’t know how to stop it.”

_“’Cause if you break the deal Sam dies, right? Well, I know a way out, for both of you.”_

“How?” He would take whatever help he could get on that front.

 _“The demon who holds your contract, he’s here_ ,” The older man declared insistently. “ _He’s here in Beacon Hills.”_

“What? How?” What were the odds of he and that demon being in the same place and the same time? “How do I find it? How I kill it?”

_“Listen to me carefully, son.”_

* * *

 

Derek reached out to Stiles with a questionable plan a hell of a lot sooner than Stiles had expected him to. He thought it’d be days, at the least, before Derek could come up with a way to capture the kanima. As it turned out, with Scott’s help, it only took hours, which didn’t exactly inspire confidence. The fact that the meeting was being held at the vet’s office was equally as troubling.

“Your friend, Jackson,” Deaton started, taking a moment to study the occupants crowded into his office. “Are we planning to kill him or save him?”

“Save him,” Stiles took it upon himself to answer for the group. “If possible.”

“What are you?” Isaac veered off topic to ask Deaton, while fiddling with the tray of herbs sitting on the examination table. “Some kind of witch?”

“No, I’m a veterinarian,” Deaton said brusquely, moving the tray out of the beta’s reach. “Unfortunately, I don’t have anything here that’s going to be an effective defense against a paralytic toxin. May I suggest an effective offense?”

“We tried that,” Derek replied, brandishing his claws. “I nearly took its head off. Argent emptied an entire clip into it. The thing just gets back up.”

“Hmm,” Deaton tapped a finger to his chin. “Has it shown any weakness?”

“It can’t swim,” Stiles figured if it had, it would’ve dove in after he and Derek that night at the pool. “Or it just doesn’t like water.”

“Does that go for Jackson as well?”

“No,” Scott shook his head. “He’s the captain of the swim team.”

“Essentially, you’re trying to catch two people. A puppet and a puppeteer,” Deaton explained. “It was clear from the murders today, the puppet killed the husband, but the puppeteer had to take care of the wife. Do we know why?”

“Someone fill me in on the murders,” It was the first Stiles was hearing about a kanima-related murder taking place that day. “I’m a little out of the loop.”

“A guy was ripped apart by the kanima early this morning, sometime after Jackson left the police station. The guy’s pregnant wife was taken to the hospital, she gave birth, and then was smothered to death.” Isaac gave him a quick summary of the kanima’s latest crimes. “Jackson, as the kanima, killed the husband, but whoever’s controlling him must have taken out the wife.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Jackson could kill the wife. His biological mother died pregnant too, and she was maybe murdered,” Scott voiced his own theory. “I don’t think he could let the same thing happen to someone else.”

“How do you know it’s not part of the rules? The kanima kills murderers,” Isaac reminded the other wolf. “If Jackson kills the wife, then the baby would have died too.”

“Does that mean your father was a murderer?” Scott asked the beta. “The kanima killed him.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if he was,” Isaac confessed indifferently.

“The books say the puppet and puppeteer are bonded,” Deaton motioned to the large stack of books on the counter. “Perhaps the fear of water isn’t coming from Jackson, but from the person controlling him. What if something that affects the kanima also affects its master?”

“If it extends past water, we could maybe use it to catch them,” It was a big fucking if, in Stiles opinion. “It’s worth a shot, I guess. What do you have in mind?”

“Ketamine. It’s the same stuff we use on dogs, just a higher dosage,” Deaton picked a syringe up from the examination table. “If you can get close enough to Jackson, it should slow him down enough to buy you some time.”

“If we inject Jackson with it, is the ketamine going to affect the person controlling him?” Derek questioned skeptically. “Or was that just bullshit?”

“It was merely an observation that could prove helpful later. For now, we must focus on safely capturing the kanima before it harms anyone else,” Deaton took a vile from the herb tray. “This can be used to create a barrier. This part is for you, Stiles. Only you.”

“How convenient,” Stiles grumbled. “What is it?”

“It’s from the Mountain Ash tree, which is believed by many cultures to protect against the supernatural,” The veterinarian passed the vile over to Stiles. “This office is lined with ashwood, making it difficult for someone like, Scott, Derek, or Isaac to cause me any trouble.”

“Okay, so then what?” Stiles would very much like to know the endgame related to his task. “I just spread it around wherever Jackson is, then he can’t cross it?”

“He and any other supernatural creature will trapped, yes,” Deaton confirmed with an nod. “Think of it like gunpowder. It’s just powder until a spark ignites it. You need to be that spark, Stiles.”

“If by _ignite_ you mean light myself on fire, I could be open to that.” At this point, Stiles would welcome the excruciating pain followed by an almost inevitable death. “Fair warning, I will leave a note implicating you in my murder.”

“Attempted murder,” Derek corrected. “I promised Dean I wouldn’t get you killed.”

“Let me try a different analogy. I used to golf. I learned the best golfers never swing before first imagining where they want the ball to go. They see it in their mind and their mind takes over.” Deaton offered up a simple example. “It can be pretty extraordinary what the force of your own will can accomplish. If this is going to work, Stiles, you have to believe it.”

“Mm-hmm. Force of will. Got it.” It sounded like a crock of shit to Stiles. “Just one problem, here, doc. To use this pixie dust, we’ll need to know where Jackson will be.”

“He’s going to that secret rave in the warehouse district,” Scott obviously came prepared for that question. “It’s where Matt’s taking Allison tonight. He mentioned to her that he saw Jackson buying tickets.”

“Who the hell is Matt?” Derek asked before thinking better of it. “Wait, I don’t care.”

“Matt Daehler. He’s a kid we go to school with,” Scott answered anyway. “This morning, Allison’s parents realized we were still seeing each other. So, we decided Allison needed a fake boyfriend to convince them we were really broken up this time, and –“

“And Allison’s parents are brain-dead and will totally buy that,” Stiles couldn’t roll his eyes hard enough to properly convey how ridiculous that plan was. “So, secret rave in the warehouse district. We’re going to need tickets. Get the tickets, give me call, I will meet you there. Goodbye.”

* * *

 

Dean was man enough to admit he hadn’t put a ton of effort into finding a solution to his demon deal problem. He had left that task to Sam, Bobby, and whoever they saw fit to drag into it. Now, though, his dad had given him a way out, and he was finding it exceptionally difficult to focus on anything but the deal.

“Dean, are you even listening to me?” Sam flicked the lid of the laptop. “That Lanie girl called. Her mom’s ghost spooked her pretty bad this afternoon.”

“That sucks,” It was no longer as high on Dean’s priority list as it had been that morning.

“Yeah, it does,” Sam dropped into the empty chair across the table. “What are you doing?”

“I think Dad’s right. I think the demon is here.” He pushed a stack of notes and printouts over the table. “Check it out.”

“What is this?” Sam gathered the papers and began sifting through the information. “Weather reports?”

“Omens. Demonic omens. Electrical storms everywhere we’ve been for the past two weeks,” He couldn’t believed they’d missed the signs right under their noses. “I’m telling you, that bastard is tailing me, wearing some poor dude’s meat.”

“And it’s following you because….”

“I guess I’m big game, you know,” He would try not to let that go to his head. “My ass is too sweet to let out of sight.”

“Okay. Sure.”

“Don’t get too excited, Sammy.” Dean huffed, snatching his notes back. “Might pull something.”

“Dean, look,” Sam drew in a long breath, as if preparing for a lengthy argument. “I wanna believe this, man, I really do.”

“Then believe it!” Dean was having a hard time not believing. “If we get this sucker, it’s Miller Time.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing,” Sam drummed his fingers over the tabletop. “Dad rattles off an exorcism that can kill a demon? I mean, not just send it back to Hell, but kill it?”

“I’ve checked it out,” He wasn’t a gullible idiot, for fuck sake. “This is heavy duty, Dark Ages, fifteenth century.”

“Yeah, I’ve checked on it too, Dean, and so did Bobby,” It figured Sam had to call in back up to try to paint their father as a liar. “It definitely is an exorcism, okay, there’s just no evidence that it can kill a demon.”

“No evidence it can’t. And, hey, as far as I’m aware, the only one us who has actually been to Hell is Dad.” Dean would trust his dad’s first-hand experience over Sam and Bobby’s book learning any day. “Maybe he picked up a couple of ticks down there, like which exorcisms work.”

“Maybe he did. Maybe it does,” Sam didn’t sound very optimistic. “I hope it does too, but we gotta be sure.”

“Why aren’t we sure?”

“’Cause I don’t know what’s going on here, Dean,” Sam threw his hands up in frustration. “I mean, some guy blows his brains out, a little girl is scared out of her wits…”

“Wow, a couple civvies are freaked out by some ghosts,” That was pretty much par for the course, even in a town like Beacon Hills. “News flash, Sam, people are supposed to be freaked out by ghosts!”

“Dean—“ Sam stopped himself, staring down Dean until he was calm enough to speak again. “Did Dad tell you where to find this demon?”

“I’m waiting on the call.”

“Well, I told Lanie I’d stop by,” Sam stood from the chair. “Like, I said, she was pretty freaked out.”

“You are unbelievable, you know that? I mean, for months we’ve been trying to break this demon deal. Now Dad’s about to give us the freaking address and you can’t accept it?” Dean knew why, too, and it had zero to do with the deal, and everything to do with Sam’s hatred for their father. “The man is dead and you’re still butting heads with him!”

“That’s not what this is about!” Sam denied the accusation. “The fact is, we’ve got no hard proof here, Dean. After everything, you’re still just going on blind faith!”

“Yeah, well, maybe you know, maybe that’s all I got,” And, fuck, it had gotten him this far, why not let it take him the rest of the way? “Okay?”

“Please, just please don’t go anywhere until I get back,” Sam begged him to stay put. “Okay, Dean? Please?”

“I can’t promise that.”

* * *

 

The DOJ building was a large complex, which should have made locating Agent Stahl all that more difficult. Fortunately, John just so happened to run into her on the elevator. All he had to was wait for the other passengers to get off on their floors so he would be free to confront the agent without any witnesses.

“Since it’s just the two of us,” He smacked the emergency brake button with his palm, bringing the elevator to an abrupt stop. “I think it’s time you and I had a little chat, Agent Stahl.”

“You have me at a loss,” She confessed, not seeming the least bit perturbed about being trapped in a confined space with a stranger. “You know me, but I don’t know you.”

“Sheriff John Stilinski,” He introduced himself, but refused to offer a hand for her to shake. “Ringing any bells yet?”

“Oh yes,” She grinned wryly. “The father of the boy with many names.”

“That’s me,” He announced proudly. “I pulled your file after you arrested my son without cause.”

“Your son is the half-brother of a high-ranking member of a notorious criminal organization,” Stahl disclosed as if it were new information. “That gives me more than enough cause.”

“Not according to the law.” Sharing blood with someone did not make you guilty of their crimes. “I really hope you had motive and evidence that will hold up in court when picked up Opie Winston, or you may very well be looking for a new line of work.”

“Opie is a suspect in a murder investigation,” Stahl reported, holding up the file in her hands that had the name _‘Hefner, Brenan’_ scrawled on the tab. “I brought him in for questioning.”

“And Donna and the children?” Surely they couldn’t be part of the investigation too. “Are they murder suspects? Or just pawns in the game you’re playing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You tried using Luann Delany to get Otto to rat. The club found out, warned him, and he assaulted you for it,” He noted the dark bruising around her eyes and nose. “Taking Opie’s family in the middle of the night, wiping out his debt, that is you trying to make the club believe he’s a rat when he’s not.”

“I need a member of the Sons of Anarchy to give me information to help my case along. I tried to convince Otto, yes, and it nearly worked,” She pressed her middle and index fingers to the purple blotches around her nose. “The club knew he hadn’t ratted yet. Opie doesn’t have that safety net, I made sure of that. The moment SAMCRO realized he was absent for the raid, when they checked his bank account, talked to his neighbors, they learned their loyal brother was a rat.”

“Except he’s not a rat.”

“No, not yet, but turning on his club is the only option he has,” She smiled smugly. “He keeps his mouth shut, goes back to the club, they’ll still think he’s a rat and will either kill him or excommunicate him. He talks to me, he and his family will go into witness protection.”

“You are playing a shell game with a man’s life,” It was unethical and immoral. “Not just his, but his wife’s and children’s, his father’s. They could all get caught in the crossfire.”

“His father is a founding member of SAMCRO, he’d be getting what they all deserve. Donna, well, she knew what Opie was when she married him. The fact that she’s stayed with him this long is proof that she doesn’t care about the violence that follows him,” Stahl determined they were all guilty by at least their association with Opie. “As for the kids, I’ll assume, based on how you allowed your child to grow up within the clubhouse walls, that SAMCRO has an aversion to harming children.”

“You are willing to put innocents in the crossfire to make a case,” The very idea made John’s skin crawl and stomach turn. “I won’t let you do it.”

“You don’t get a choice, _Sheriff_ ,” She clucked her tongue. “It’s out of your jurisdiction and above your pay grade.”

“Yeah, for now,” He couldn’t do anything about the pay grade, the jurisdiction, however, was something else entirely. “Charming PD has an opening I’m thinking about filling.”

“Well, I do hope you get it, because I enjoy a challenge.” She drawled, extending a hand to turn the emergency brake off and get the elevator moving again. “Unser was a world class idiot and Deputy Davey Hale just makes things too easy for me.”

“He’s young, eager to please and make a name for himself,” John always thought David was far too naïve for someone who’d grown up in Charming while SAMCRO was coming into power. “Even if it means bending over for the likes of you.”

“You gonna fix him, Sheriff?” Stahl taunted, licking her lips. “Gonna whip him into shape?”

“He’s on my list,” Right along with straightening up the whole goddamn town. “I’ll see you again real soon, Agent Stahl.”

“Looking forward to it Sheriff Stilinski,” She smirked as the elevator stopped once more and the doors opened. “Oh, by the way, the Winston’s were released from custody fifteen minutes ago. They wouldn’t talk. Looks like you wasted a trip.”

* * *

 

Stiles task was a simple one: encircle the rave-hosting warehouse with a line of mountain ash to trap the kanima inside for the werewolves to incapacitate. The task would have gone smoother if he wasn’t distracted, anxiously awaiting another call from his dead brother. It would’ve gone quicker if he wasn’t constantly having to check the barrage of unsolicited text messages Isaac was blowing up his phone with to keep him updated on the situation inside.

Stiles didn’t care to hear that Scott had to run interference with the Argents hunting party because Allison had betrayed them by telling her father the plan. He didn’t care that Isaac and Erica now had to pick up Scott’s slack and be the ones to corner Jackson and inject him with the ketamine. Stiles just wanted to do his job and be done with it.

The sound of his phone ringing further kept him from his task, and effectively shook him out of his moping. He glanced at the caller ID, hoping to see the stranger number Thomas had called from, but finding his father’s instead.

“What’s up, Pop?”

 _“I just got done at the DOJ,”_ His dad said, much to his confusion. _“There wasn’t anything I could do. Stahl had released Donna and Opie before I got there.”_

“Stahl had Donna and Opie?” Well, that was new information. “Why am I just hearing about this?”

 _“Uh, I thought you knew,”_ His dad laughed nervously. _“Guess you don’t know Bobby’s been arrested for murder.”_

“Elvis or Singer?”

_“Elvis.”_

“He’ll be fine.” Whoever had decided to keep all this from Stiles in the first place, however, would be getting a swift kick in the ass. “Why were you at the DOJ for them anyway? Did someone from the club call you? Did they ask you to intervene?”

 _“No, no. Of course not, they know better,”_ His dad denied any intervention on the clubs behalf. _“I, uh, I was picking up an application at Charming PD and I overheard the deputies talking about it, and decided to check into it.”_

“I think you’re lying to protect a club member from me, which lowers the suspect list considerably. There are a limited number of members I actually care about that you’d be willing to protect,” That was a problem he would deal with face-to-face, not over the phone. “We’re gonna come back to that later. Right now, tell me about the application. Did Beacon County call? Did they fire you?”

 _“As far as I know, it’s still just a suspension.”_ His father was quick to assure him. _“I was thinking it might be time for a change. Charming is familiar and we have family there. We’ve got nothing for us in Beacon Hills, right?”_

“Right.” There was nothing keeping them there that they couldn’t take with them. “I, uh, I thought you wouldn’t ever live in Charming again, because of what happened to Grandpa.”

 _“Well, things change. The person who let his murderers walk free is dead now. It presents an opportunity,”_ There was a hint of something Stiles didn’t recognize in his dad’s voice, hope with a dash of wistfulness, perhaps. _“We can try to turn Charming around, make it what it used to be before JT and Clay poisoned it.”_

“I don’t think we’ll be able to do that with Clay at the gavel,” Clay had friends in high places in Charming, the kind of people who could block their efforts to change things. “We need to put Jax in power. He would listen to you.”

 _“Change doesn’t happen overnight. As chief, I could at least put things in motion for when Jax ascends to the throne,”_ His dad reasoned. _“It’s just an idea, Stiles. Is it something you would be open to?”_

“Yeah, yes,” If he were in Charming full time, he could keep a closer eye on his brother and the other dimwits rocking reaper patches. “Absolutely.”

 _“Don’t say yes right away. It’s something we both really need to think long and hard about_ ,” His dad cautioned against making any rash decisions. _“I’m getting back on the road now, but we’ll talk about this when I get home tonight, okay?”_

“Okay,” With any luck he would make it home before his dad or his groundation would be extended. “See you when you get home.”

With a new determination to get things done so he could get home to have that conversation with his father, Stiles renewed his focus on his task. He shoved his phone in his hoodie pocket, putting it out sight and out of mind so it couldn’t distract him again. He tightened his grip on the garbage bag full of pixie dust Deaton had given him and set off from his Jeep to the warehouse.

He tore a corner off the bag, allowing mountain ash to spill to the asphalt. He walked around the building, laying a thick coat of ash on the ground as he went. He'd nearly completed the circle when the sound of gunfire and growls from a nearby alley reached his ears.

“Ah, Derek and Boyd are making friends with Argent and company. How sweet.”

Stiles took a deep breath and drowned out the scuffle, confident the wolves could keep the hunters at bay. He looked at the space he had left to cover, calculating he needed to lay another 50ft of ash, a big problem considering only a handful of it remained. Deaton had told him the task hinged on belief, but belief wasn’t going to give him more pixie dust, but something else might.

“Hey, uh, Mr. Imaginary Friend Guy, if you’re still around, you wanna help me out here?” He was grasping at straws, but what other choice did he have? “Come on, I’ve got 50ft left to go and I don’t know what else to do.”

His request was met with nothing more than a stillness in the air, the thump of music from the warehouse, and the fight down the alley.

“Look, I’m standing out here, alone, with a handful of fairy dust, like a frickin’ idiot,” If he made it through the night alive he was going to have a strongly worded conversation with the assholes who put him in this position. “I don’t have enough, okay? And I’m not a fucking magician, I can’t make more appear out of thin air. Deaton said believe, but that’s never been my strong suit.”

“Oh, I know it's not,” B’s familiar voice sounded behind him. “One day, you will stand in the shadow of God and still think him a myth.”

“Yeah, that sounds like me,” Stiles muttered, but didn’t move to face the man he’d created in his mind as a child. “I don’t even believe you’re real, no offense.”

“None taken. You are more than welcome to convince yourself you’re having some sort of psychotic episode rather than believe I’m real. It makes things easier,” B commented, stepping around Stiles, but remaining just out of his line of sight. “Close your eyes.”

“At the pool, you said you wouldn’t help me again,” Stiles mentioned conversationally, obediently shutting his eyes. “That you wouldn’t ride to my rescue whenever I was in danger.”

“Well, you asked me so nicely, I couldn’t resist.” B joked, snorting derisively. “I can’t come to you again, not for a long time. You can call for me, but I will not be able to answer. The next time you find yourself in dire straits, you’ll have to save yourself.”

“I’m on my own, got it,” He’d survived this long without an angel on his shoulder, what was a few more years? “So, if I did believe in you, I would ask if you were gonna whammy me some pixie dust.”

“I already have,” B responded calmly as the phone in Stiles phone began to ring once more. “You know the person on the other end of that call isn’t who you hope it is.”

“You don’t know that,” Stiles hissed, keeping his eyes closed as he fished the device out of his pocket. “You’re my imaginary friend, right? A figment of my subconscious preying on my doubts, trying to take this from me—“

“Thomas Wayne Teller has been at peace since before you were born. He died painlessly in his sleep, with his mother and older brother at his side.” B touched a gentle hand to his shoulder, filling him with an unnatural warmth meant to soothe. “You will see him, someday, but not like this. Your Thomas wouldn’t ask something like this of you, Stiles.”

“Thank you for finishing the mountain ash circle,” Stiles pried his eyes open, keeping them locked on the ground where the line of ash had been completed. “But please go away now. I need to take this call. My brother’s waiting for me.”

“You’ll fail at the task he’s given you, you’re not meant to succeed.” B sighed, taking his hand from Stiles shoulder, leaving him with a bitter coldness. “We’ll see each other again, after a long while, Mieczysław Nathaniel.”

A gust of wind and echo of wings flapping signaled the imaginary man’s exit. Stiles scanned the surrounding area to be sure he was alone and answered the call he’d been waiting for.

“Thomas?”

 _“I’m here,”_ The child’s voice floated through the speaker. _“I want you here with me.”_

“I-I want that too, Tommy,” He wanted it more than anything in the world. “You said I had to do something to get to you. Tell me what it is.”

 _“You’re trying to trap the kanima, so it won’t hurt anyone else_ ,” Thomas revealed his knowledge of the plan currently in motion. _“Its master has a list of people that have to die so he can have his revenge. The kanima has to follow his master’s orders, but when provoked, he can go off script.”_

“I-I don’t understand.”

 _“Yes, you do. I’m here. You want to be here with me. I want you to be here,”_ Thomas choked back tears, desperation tightening his throat. _“Come to me. Provoke the kanima.”_

“If I provoke the kanima….” If he provoked the kanima, it would deviate from its master’s list. “He’ll kill me.”

 _“You said you wanted to be here with me,”_ The little boy’s breath hitched with a sob. _“I don’t like it here. I’m all alone. I want you here with me. Please.”_

“Okay. Okay. I’m coming. J-Just don’t cry, please.” Stiles pleaded with his brother. “I’m coming. I promise.”

_“You’ll come to me?”_

“I will.”

* * *

 

The last thing Sam remembered after leaving Lanie's house and heading to the phone company, was talking to Dean on his cell, telling him the ghost caller was actually a crocotta. His brother had instructed him to search for the creature at the phone company, recalling the crocotta's lived in filfth and the offices there fit the bill. Sam had followed the lead and was whacked over the head when a hard object for his efforts. When he woke, he was in the basement office, tied to a chair next to a disheveled young guy wearing a named that said ‘Stewie.’

“I’m sorry, Clark,” Stewie sniveled as a man with a large knife approached him. “I’m sorry for whatever I did to you. I’m sorry…please…”

“Wait. Don’t.” Sam croaked groggily. “Don’t do it.”

“Sam, you’re awake,” Clark smiled, pleased with the development. “Good.”

“You’re not a killer, Clark,” Stewie recoiled in fear as Clark leaned over him, placing the knifes tip against his thigh. “No! There’s a good man inside of you, I know it.”

“What do you think, Sammy?” Clark asked like he honestly wanted Sam’s opinion on the matter. “Am I a good man?”

“You’re not a man at all.” Sam could say with absolute certainty that Clark was 100% crocotta. “Just let Stewie go.”

“I would. I really would. If only I’d had more than a salad for dinner,” The crocotta pouted. “You see, I’m starving.”

Clark lifted the knife high above his head then plunged it into Stewie’s chest. He unhinged his jaw inhumanly wide, baring the razor spikes he had for teeth, and began sucking Stewie’s soul right from his body.

“My last call with Dean, that was you,” Sam shuddered, realizing he hadn’t spoken to his brother at all. “You led me here.”

“Some calls I make, some calls I take. You have to admit, I had you going for a while with all that Edison crap,” The crocotta chuckled and moseyed over to the telephone exchange cabinet, placing his hand on the glass. “Ah, yes.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m killing your brother. Or maybe I’m killing another guy,” Clark shrugged, uncaring of the outcome. “We’ll have to see how it goes.”

“What?”

 _“’Hi Daddy,’_ ” The crocotta’s voice shifted from a grown man’s to that of a little girls. “ _’I had to call. I know who killed me, Mommy, and sissy. He’s coming to our house, Daddy. He wants to kill you too!’”_

“You know, mimicking Dean is one thing,” Sam swallowed thickly. “But my Dad…that’s a hell of a trick.”

“Well, once I made him as a hunter, it was easy. I found Dean’s number, then yours, then your father’s. Then emails, voicemails, everything. Now the boy who was here with your brother, he was tad more difficult to get a read on, but eventually I found the right pressure point,” Clark grinned, proud of his accomplishments. “You see, people think that stuff just gets erased, but it doesn’t. You’d be surprised how much of yourself is just floating out there, waiting to be plucked.”

“Dean’s not going to fall for this.” Sam knew Dean was strong enough to see through the crocotta’s act. “He’s not going to kill that guy.”

“Then the guy kills him.”

* * *

 

A text to his phone led Stiles through the throngs of rave-goers and into an isolated room in the warehouse. Erica and Isaac were just inside the door, standing a safe distance from their captive, Jackson, who was splayed out in a folding chair, unconscious.

“Well, I guess the ketamine worked,” Stiles observed, closing the door behind himself. “He okay?”

“Let’s find out.” Isaac suggested pragmatically.

The beta moved toward Jackson, his claws extended. With a potential threat imminent, Jackson decided he was done playing possum and shot out his hand, grabbing Isaac’s wrist and twisting it painfully. Stiles and Erica jumped in, prying Isaac from the kanima’s grasp.

“No one does anything like that again, okay?” Stiles made a point to keep himself between Jackson and the wolves, acting a human barrier between predator and prey. “Why isn’t he tied up?”

“We thought the ketamine was supposed to put him out,” Isaac admitted, rubbing his smarting wrist. “We used the whole bottle.”

“Well, apparently this is the best we’re going to get,” Docile was better than unconscious for the plan Stiles had in mind anyway. “Let’s hope whoever’s controlling him decided to show up tonight.”

“I’m here,” Jackson spook in a deep, robot-like tone. “I’m right here with you.”

“Jackson,” Stiles took a half-step toward him. “Is that you?”

“Us,” He answered monotonously. “We’re all here.”

“Uh, okay,” Stiles guessed that meant both kanima and master were in the building. “Are you the one killing people?”

“ _We_ are the ones killing _murderers_ ,” Jackson clarified. “They deserved it.”

“All right, so they’re all murderers,” That lined up with the research. “Who did they murder?”

“Me.” Jackson hissed, eyes morphing into their amphibian form. “They murdered me.”

“Does that mean that kanima’s master is a ghost?” Erica asked, brows knitting together. “Or that Jackson is dead?”

“That’s a question for another time,” Stiles refused to play the guessing game when they had more important things to attend to. “So, Jackson, you, uh, you got a little rule book to follow, says you only go after killers. Is that a thing with your species or more of personal preference?”

“Anything can break if enough pressure is applied.” He responded, not answering the question, but confirming what Thomas had said.

“Okay, good.” That was all Stiles needed to hear. “Look, Erica, Isaac, you guys take a walk, okay? I need a minute with him—them.”

“No, no way.” Erica shook her head. “No one gets left alone with that thing.”

“Then whatever happens next, let it go. Do not intervene for any reason.” Stiles advised the wolves, hoping they would listen for once. “It’s on me. It is my choice. I know what I’m doing. I _have_ to do it, so j-just let me. It’s important.”

Having made his orders clear, Stiles turned his back on the wolves and crouched in front of Jackson so they were eyelevel. He wanted the kanima in Jackson to lash out and attack, to make it quick, but he knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

“You came here to murder someone, right?” Stiles didn’t know who it was, but he hoped he could prevent their death, one way or another. “You don’t have to hurt them. You can make an exception, a trade.”

“No,” Jackson blinked slowly, bored with the proceedings. “She murdered me, I will kill her.”

“You’re working from a list, I know, but,” But he could go off script, Thomas had told Stiles as much. “You can take someone else.”

“I won’t.” Jackson claimed, tilting his head as if he was trying to figure Stiles out.

“With enough pressure applied anyone can break – that’s what you said,” Stiles kept that at the forefront of his mind as he took the blade from the sheath strapped to his ankle, holding it up for the kanima to see. “Is this enough pressure or should I go get my gun?”

“What the hell is he doing?” Isaac stage-whispered to his pack mate.

“How the hell should I know?” Erica snapped at the other beta.

“Is this enough pressure?” Stiles repeated, pressing the sharp edge of the knife to Jackson’s jugular. “I know you said she murdered you, but will you let someone take her place? Act as surrogate? You leave that girl alone, whoever she is, and you can kill me instead.”

Jackson’s reaction to the suggested compromise was almost instantaneous. He flew out of the chair, latching a clawed hand around Stiles throat, restricting his breathing considerably. Stiles let his knife fall from his grip; using it would be detrimental to his plan to get to Thomas. Rather than fighting what was coming, he relaxed into, let his body go lax as he waited for the kanima to take over, to choke him to death or slash his throat, whatever it took.

Naturally, the wolves had to throw a wrench in his plan. They were at his side in a second, pulling at him and Jackson, trying to break them apart. Stiles resisted their attempts but Jackson ceded to them, tossing Stiles across the room like a ragdoll.

Stiles bit his lip to muffle a cry of pain as his head ricocheted off the wall. The wolves rushed to his side while Jackson took advantage of the opening to make a break for it. He clawed through the steel wall behind his chair with little effort, and bolted out.

“What kind of self-sacrificing bullshit was that?” Isaac shouted, yanking Stiles to his feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Let go of me!” Stiles tore his arm from the wolf’s grip and shoved him away. “Go get him before he kills the girl.”

“Stiles—“ Erica started to protest, but Stiles wasn’t having it.

“Go!”

* * *

 

Dean stared up at the house he’d arrived at, the location his father had given him to find the demon. He had recognized the address when his dad had read it off to him, he’d first seen it on the phone company list earlier. If Stiles were to be believed, the place belonged to a gun-toting widower named Tate.

Dean slung his pre-packed duffle bag over his shoulder and made his way to the front porch, finding the front door conveniently unlocked. He took the poor security as permission and entered the house. After doing a quick sweep, determining it was all clear, he began preparing for the possessed homeowners return, starting in the living room.

He set his bag on the coffee table and took a can of red spray paint from it, methodically drawing a Devil’s Trap on the hardwood floor. Once the trap was in place, he traded the paint for a large bottled water and a rosary. He twisted the cap off the bottle and dropped the rosary inside, reciting the blessing he’d learned as a child.

Car headlights shining through the windows, illuminating the interior of the house, followed by the _thud_ of a car door being closed caught Dean’s attention. He took a step toward the front door, ready to catch the demon off guard and splash it with holy water, but a noise from the opposite end of the house changed his course. He moved down the hall to the kitchen, keeping his footsteps light so not to creak the floorboards. He glanced over his shoulder superstitiously at the front door, only for a moment but long enough for the demon to get a jump on him.

It burst through the backdoor, rifle raised and firing in Dean’s direction. Dean leapt out of the way to avoid being hit, dropping the open bottle of holy water in process, spilling it across the floor. His first instinct was to pull his own gun and return fire, but he needed the demon alive so he could recite the exorcism that would kill it and destroy his contract. Instead of filling the demon’s meat-suit full of bullets, Dean scrambled into the living room for cover while it was reloading.

He retook control of the situation when the demon stalked in after him. He body slammed it into the wall, knocking the rifle from its hands. He wrapped the demon in a bear hug and tugged it over the Devil’s Trap, but it didn’t go easily. It purposely tangled its feet with Dean’s, making them lose their balance and fall.

“I got you,” Dean grunted, elbowing the demon, rolling away from it and out the trap. “I got you now, you son of a bitch.”

“What is this?” The demon stared slack-jawed at the markings on the floor as if he’d never seen anything like it.

“You’re funeral,” Dean sneered as he began the exorcism. “Crux sancta sit mihi lux non draco—“

“You do this to my daughter too?” The demon growled, climbing to his feet and walking out of the Devil’s Trap unhindered. “You ran my wife’s car off the road, killed her and my youngest girl, and then you took Malia. Did you do this to her?”

“What?” Dean said dumbly, gaze stuck on the faulty trap. “How the hell did you get out?”

“They never found her body. She wasn’t with her mother and sister!” He yelled, eyes blazing red with anguish. “Did you take her? Did you take my Malia? Did you do this to her?”

“Wait,” Something wasn’t right. Either Dean had messed up the sigils on the trap or he’d been duped. “This is a mistake.”

“You killed her!” The man screamed, advancing on Dean. “You killed my family!”

“No, wait!”

* * *

 

Clark was a talker, which was good for Sam, it gave him a chance to work the ties binding him to the chair, gave him a better chance to escape. He only started to worry when Clark pulled the knife from Stewie’s chest.

“Technology makes life so much easier. Used to be, I’d hide in the woods for days, weeks, whispering to people, trying to draw them out into the night. But they had community, they all looked out for each other. I’d be lucky to eat one or two souls a year,” Clark seethed, towering over Sam threateningly. “Now when I’m hungry, I simply make a phone call. You’re all so connected, but you’ve never been so alone.”

Clark opened his mouth, unhinging his jaw, and raised the knife up, just as he’d done with Stewie, but Sam wasn’t about to let his soul be sucked out the same way. He broke out of his bonds at the precisely the right moment, narrowly avoiding a stab wound to the chest by erupting from the chair and tackling Clark to the floor. The knife landed several feet from them, provoking a wrestling match between them to see who got to it first. Clark proved the victor when he grabbed Sam by the jacket and swung him into the metal grate behind them.

As soon as Sam was able to find his footing, Clark was making a run at him, knife in hand. He blocked the blow, latching a hand around Clark’s wrist before he could sink the blade into him. Sam kept the upper hand, lifting Clark off his feet and impaling him on one of many sharp spikes sticking out of a corkboard on the wall, killing him instantly.

* * *

 

The panic seized in Stiles chest the moment he inhaled the fresh air outside the rave. Breathing at all meant he’d failed Thomas, that they wouldn’t be together, and from the muteness of his phone Thomas was aware of that.

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” He willed his phone to ring, for his brother to call and give him another chance. “Please, I’m sorry. Please, call back, please. I’ll do anything.”

He wondered if he could still find the kanima somewhere in the warehouse, it had to be around somewhere if Deaton was right about how the mountain ash worked. He could find the kanima, get it to do what needed to be done, and then he could be with Thomas. He had to get to Thomas, Thomas was just a little boy, he was all alone, he needed to be looked after, and Stiles needed to be with him.

“Stiles!” Derek’s urgent tone pulled Stiles gaze up to see the alpha standing on the other side of the pixie dust barrier. “Where are Erica and Isaac?”

“Looking for Jackson. He got away.” Stiles left out his part in the kanima’s escape as he shuffled over to meet the wolf. “Where’s Boyd?”

“Argent shot him with wolfsbane, I sent him back to the subway to heal.” Derek grumbled, scowling at the line of dirt keeping him from his other betas. “What is this?”

“The mountain ash crap Deaton gave me. It works, I guess. Look, I need to—“ Stiles was shocked silent by a piecing howl cutting through the night air. “What the hell? _Who_ the hell?”

“It’s Scott,” Derek growled confidently. “Break the line!”

“What? Do you know what kind of crazy I had to give into to finish that line?” Calling on his imaginary friend hadn’t been easy for him. “No way, man.”

“Break the damn line, Stiles!” The alpha demanded. “Scott’s dying.”

“What?” Having witnessed the wolves spotty track record with their senses in the past, Stiles wasn’t certain Derek could actually tell it was Scott from a howl, let alone determine what kind of state Scott was in. “How do you know that?”

“Oh, my god, Stiles, I just know!” Derek roared, looking like he would throttle Stiles if the magical barrier wasn’t in the way. “Just break it!”

“Ah! Fine,” Stiles dropped to his knees and swished his hand through the ash, breaking the line to allow Derek passage. “There.”

“All right. Let’s go,” Derek clapped Stiles on the back as he jogged over the broken line, starting toward the warehouse, faltering only when he noticed Stiles wasn’t following. “You coming?”

“No, I, uh,” He looked down at his phone, which was just as quiet as it had been since his run-in with the kanima. “I’m waiting for a call.”

“A call,” Derek echoed doubtfully. “That’s more important than someone who is dying right now?”

“Y-Yes. Yeah.” He held the phone close to his chest. “He’s gonna call back and I need to answer. He needs me. Scott needs you. Go.”

“Who is it that needs you?”

“Just go, Derek,” Neither of them had time for Stiles to explain something even he didn’t really understand. “Go.”

“Don’t go anywhere until I get back, Stiles!”

* * *

 

With the Devil’s Trap being a bust, unable to hold the man, Dean was left to accept that it was in fact only a man named Tate, not a demon as he originally suspected. What Dean had previously written off as supernatural strength, he now saw as intense _human_ rage. All Dean’s hunter training was apparently no match for a distraught father who was convinced Dean killed his family.

“My Malia was nine years old!” Tate straddled Dean’s hips, pummeling him with his fists. “Why did you kill her? Why did you kill them?”

“Stop! I didn’t!” Dean raised his arms to shield himself from the oncoming blows. “You gotta believe me!”

Tate wasn’t buying what Dean was selling, he just kept throwing punches, landing most of them. Somehow, Dean managed to twist onto his stomach, crawling until he could reach a hand out to snatch Tate’s discarded rifle. Not wanting to kill the guy, Dean chose to knock him backward with the swift hit from the butt of the gun.

“Why?” Tate sobbed, curling in on himself. “Why did you kill them?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean apologized, sliding the rifle across the floor, far enough away so neither of them could make a play for it. “I didn’t kill your daughter.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I….” He was chasing a small glimmer of hope that had now been thoroughly extinguished. “I don’t know.”

* * *

 

When Derek found Scott, the kid was laid out on the floor being poisoned by a wolfsbane infused vaporizer. The poison acted quickly, had Derek stumbling on his feet within a few seconds. He tried to shake off the fogginess it left him with, but it was too little too late, as he was attacked from behind with a knife lodged into his back.

He only caught a glimpse of Victoria Argent’s blood red hair before she slammed him face-first into the wall. He tried to fight back, but the wolfsbane vapors were strong, made him woozy and allowed Victoria to easily overpower him. The huntress didn’t go in for the kill, probably assuming the wolfsbane would keep him incapacitated until it took his life. She just dumped him beside Scott like a piece of trash and fled the scene.

“Shit,” Derek blinked rapidly to clear the haze from his vision. “Scott.”

He rolled the other wolf onto his back and used what little strength he retained to pull them both to their feet. Scott’s prolonged exposure to wolfsbane made him lethargic and pliant as Derek dragged him from the building, away from the toxins.

“Oh god,” Scott gasped, sucking in as much fresh air as he could. “Thanks.”

“How did you end up with her?” A hunter of Victoria Argent’s stature didn’t do the dirty work, they left that to the men of the family. “What the hell happened?”

“Allison told me she sold us out to her dad. I was coming to warn you, to help you fend off Mr. Argent. Mrs. Argent got to me first, hit me with her car,” Scott muttered drowsily. “She was trying to make my death look like an asthma attack with the wolfsbane thing.”

“There’s a reason the women of the Argent family run things,” Derek had personally experienced how deadly the woman of that family could be. “They’re smart and lethal.”

“Yeah, I’m learning that.”

Derek remained on high alert as he helped Scott trudge around the warehouse, toward the parking area to meet up with the others. As they rounded the corner, Derek noted Stiles was in the same position Derek left him in, on his knees next to the mountain ash line, and Erica and Isaac were rushing out of the rave like their asses were on fire.

“Where’s Jackson?” He questioned his betas, noticing the teenager was pointedly absent.

“He shifted into the kanima and got away.” Erica reported as she sniffed the air, trying to catch a whiff of the lizard. “He killed who he came to kill, some chick named Kara.”

“Great,” Without the kanima, the entire evening was a gigantic waste of time. “Erica, Boyd’s back at the subway car, go look after him. Isaac, take Scott to Deaton’s office, use my car.”

“What are you going to do?” Isaac asked, taking Scott’s weight from Derek. “Look for the kanima?”

“No,” If Derek were to hazard a guess, he’d say the kanima had run off when the mountain ash line had been broken. “I’m going to figure out what the hell is wrong with Stiles.”

“Have fun with that.”

While the other wolves took a hike, Derek took a moment to do a quick assessment of Stiles current condition. The kid was trembling, mumbling nonsensically to himself, and still had his phone locked in a death grip. Derek had a feeling barking orders at the kid, telling him to get over whatever the fuck was wrong with him, wasn’t going to do the trick this time. If he wanted to get through to Stiles, he would have to be delicate.

“Uh, Stiles,” Derek knelt down beside the kid, staying in full view so not to spook him. “Still waiting for that call?”

“Mhm,” Stiles nodded, eyes pinned on his darkened phone screen. “He’ll call.”

“Why don’t you call him?” It seemed the logical step, better than continuing to play the waiting game. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“Number doesn’t work when I call. He has to call me,” Stiles murmured, clearing his throat. “He’ll call. He will. He needs me.”

“Who?”

“My brother.”

“Jax?” Derek didn’t know him well, but Jax didn’t seem like the kind of guy that would leave his brother hanging. “I can call—“

“It’s not Jax,” Stiles snapped, clinching his jaw. “It’s Thomas.”

“Thomas,” The named wasn’t ringing any bells. “I don’t remember meeting him at Christmas dinner.”

“He’s gonna call. He will.” Stiles insisted, beginning to rock back and forth anxiously. “He needs me. He’s alone and he needs me. He’s going to call. He has to tell me how to get to him. He’s gonna call.”

Derek considered asking more questions, but figured Stiles would only respond with another round of ‘he’ll call’. Instead, he made use of his own phone, texting Dean because he didn't have a number for Jax.

‘Can you ask Jax to have his brother Thomas call Stiles?’ He typed out on the keypad. ‘Stiles is losing it waiting for Thomas to call him.’

 ** _NEW TEXT MESSAGE :_** **_DEAN W._** : ‘Thomas has been dead since 1990. Bring Stiles to me. I’m at your loft.’

‘On our way.’ Derek sent back before pocketing his phone.

He was fairly certain Stiles wasn’t going to leave willingly, no matter what Derek said. He would have to find a balance between delicate and forceful to get the kid to do anything.

“Hey Stiles,” He kept his tone soft as he grabbed the kid under his pits and pulled him up off the ground. “We gotta go.”

“No! No, I can’t,” Stiles shrieked, trying uselessly to squirm out of Derek’s hold. “Thomas hasn’t called yet.”

“Great thing about cellphones is they can come with you wherever you go,” They were called _mobile_ phones for a reason. “You’ll still get his call if we leave.”

“Yeah, no, but, I-I need the kanima,” Stiles glanced back at the warehouse, as if expecting the lizard to come running out at any second. “I messed up the first time. I wasn’t threatening enough to provoke him. I can do better.”

“What do you need the kanima for?”

“To be with Thomas,” Stiles stated matter-of-factly. “He told me to use the kanima so I can be with him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Derek sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Stiles, the kanima is long gone by now, you know.”

“Well, maybe…maybe when Thomas calls he’ll give me another way --"

“Stiles, Dean knows how you can get to Thomas,” Derek lied, believing it was the only way to get Stiles to be compliant. “Give me your keys and I’ll take you to him.”

“To Thomas?”

“To Dean.” Derek would let the hunter take things from there. “He’ll help you get to, uh, to Thomas. Give me your keys. I’ll take you.”

“I can drive,” Stiles argued petulantly, taking the Jeep keys out of his pocket. “I’m fine. I can drive.”

“Not a chance.” Derek snagged the keys in the blink of an eye. “I’m not convinced you won’t drive us off the overpass.”

“The overpass has guard rails.”

“Not the point.”

* * *

 

Despite being the resident tech guy for the club, Juice wasn’t permitted to be the one to confiscate everyone’s phones before a meeting. It never bothered him, until now, when Opie’s ass was on the line and Clay and Tig were looking for any reason to call him a rat. Juice trusted Opie, had spent all day trying to prove his innocence even with the evidence mounted against him. It was Stahl he didn’t trust. If the ATF was willing to pay off Opie’s debt just to put doubt in the clubs mind, then they’d be more than willing to bug Opie’s phone without his knowledge.

Juice only relaxed when he saw it was Chibs taking everyone’s electronics before they were allowed in the chapel. Chibs wouldn’t jump to conclusions if he came across anything untoward or out of the ordinary. Of course, whatever comfort Juice took in that evaporated when the chapel doors closed and all but two members were seated around the table.

“Where’s Tig?” Bobby Elvis’s absence was expected, him being in jail and all, but Tig not being at Clay’s right made Juice incredibly nervous. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

“He’ll be here in a minute,” Clay assured him, shifting his gaze to their previously missing-in-action brother. “Appreciate you coming in, Ope. It says a lot.”

“It says he’s not a rat,” Piney remarked with open hostility toward their president.

“We got one member in jail, and another in a wit-pro facility,” Clay made excuses for his lack of trust in his club. “You can understand my worry.”

“Yeah, I know how this looks – what Stahl has done. She set me up to look like a rat. It’s a lie. She threatened me with my own club. I don’t know who the hell the witness is, but it sure as shit ain’t me.” Opie paused to take a puff from his cigarette then continued to plead his case. “She tried to turn Donna against me, offered her that whole wit-pro bullshit dream, but she turned it down. She could’ve walked away. She trusted that if I came in here and had the chance to tell you guys the truth…that I could make this right.”

“Erm,” Tig grunted as he ambled into the chapel, taking his place at Clay’s side. “Sorry.”

“I’m just saying that…getting squeezed made me realize I can’t do this with one foot out the door.” Opie rested his gaze briefly on Tig, then Clay, as if he knew the men thought he was a traitor. “I’m here. I’m in. No more doubt. No more mistakes.”

“You’re a good man, Ope,” Clay praised the younger Winston.

“Am I good with you, Clay? The M.C.?”

“Yeah,” The club president banged his gavel to second his declaration. “We’re good.”

“Ah! Good news, Opie.” Chibs slapped the bigger man on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Great news.”

“Hey,” Piney stopped his son as they rose from the table. “I’m proud of you, son.”

“Thanks, Pop,” Opie grinned, hugging his father.

Everything seemed fine, good even, as they piled out to the bar for a celebratory drink. As Juice retrieved his phone from the box on the pool table, he couldn’t help but notice Opie’s cellphone drowning in a pitcher of beer next to it, and the nagging worry returned to his mind. He looked back to the chapel to see Clay and Tig huddled together at the head of the table, talking too low for anyone to overhear.

“Juicy,” Jax slung an arm around him. “What’s up? You good?”

“What do you think that’s all about?” Juice gestured to the phone, then to Clay and Tig’s secret meeting. “They didn’t believe Opie?”

“It doesn’t matter what they believe, it’s what they can prove,” Jax reminded him. “The proof is on our side. What John got out of Stahl earlier backs up Opie’s story.”

“Yeah, she admitted she was screwing with us, wants us to believe Opie’s a rat when he’s not,” It would be a smart play if they didn’t know about. “But Clay already said he wouldn’t believe anything coming from Stilinski.”

“Any vote against Opie has to be unanimous, so it doesn’t matter what Clay and Tig believe, they’re just two members. You, me, Piney, and Chibs, we’re on Opie’s side,” Their four votes outnumbered the two from their president and sergeant of arms. “Relax, okay? It’s all cool now. We won’t let anything happen to Ope, right?”

“Right.”

* * *

 

It only took the first half of the card ride for Stiles to realize he’d been played, that Derek wasn’t taking him to Dean to find Thomas, but because he thought Stiles was batshit. It took the last leg of the trip for Stiles to realize Derek had every reason to think he was crazy, ‘cause he was sure as hell acting like it, blubbering on about his dead brother calling him. By the time they actually made it to the apartment building, Stiles felt like the biggest idiot in the world and wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry.

When Derek got out of the Jeep, he didn’t push Stiles to go with him. He didn’t pull him out by his hair or say anything to convince him to leave the safety of his car. He was gone without a word, leaving Stiles with only the dangerous thoughts brewing in his mind. He wasn’t alone for long, Dean slid into the driver’s seat almost as soon as Derek had left it.

The hunter didn’t say much at first, content to stare straight ahead and put his hands on the steering wheel at ten and two, as if he were preparing to drive them far away from the hellhole they were stuck in. Maybe if they drove fast enough they could outrun the wreckage their ghosts left behind.

“It was a crocotta,” Dean announced, breaking the silence. “It wasn’t Thomas.”

“A crocotta.”

“Yeah, it’s some kind of scavenger. Lives in filth,” Dean flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, offering up a short description of the monster that had tormented them. “It, uh, it mimics loved ones, whispers ‘come to me’, then lures you into the dark and swallows your soul.”

“Sounds about right,” Stiles sniveled, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey, no, you’re not. It-It had me too, okay?” Dean confessed, bowing his head in shame. “It pretended to be my dad, told me where to find the demon that held my contract. I nearly killed an innocent man before I believed him—it.”

“It wanted me to let the kanima kill me, so I could be with Thomas.” The scary thing was, even knowing that it was all a lie, Stiles would still do it if he received another call. “He said he was alone and needed me. A part of me knew it was all wrong, but it was _Thomas_. My entire life, I’ve wanted to know him. I would’ve done anything just to have that chance to be with him.”

“I wanted to believe so badly that there was a way out of this deal. I mean, I’m staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell. For real, forever, and I just…” Dean bit back a sob, digging his nails into the rim of the steering wheel. “I guess I was willing to believe anything. You know, the last act of a desperate man.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t your dad.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t Thomas.”


	14. Fury is on My Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
>  **Warnings:** violence, mentions of past drug abuse, mentions of torture, mentions of past rape/non-con of a child.  
>  Episodes: [SPN] 3x15 Time is On My Side, [TW] 2x09 Party Guessed, 2x10 Fury, and some 2x11 Battlefield.  
> Gif sets: [Distraction](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/170479981114/charming-wayward-sons-verse-distraction-i-was), [No Pressure](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/170325931039/charming-wayward-sons-verse-no-pressure-hunting), [Victoria Argent](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/170511647504/charming-wayward-sons-verse-victoria-argent), [Rufus Turner](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/170522988319/charming-wayward-sons-verse-rufus-turner-lets), [Jail](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/170706516749/charming-wayward-sons-verse-jail-well-what-do)  
> [Update: After finishing the layout for the next chapter, I had to changed Abel's homecoming date to actually fit it.]

Dean sat at the bar, typing away on a borrowed laptop, trying to focus on anything but the noise around him. A samcro party wasn’t exactly a prime spot to do research, but it was where he needed to be. Really, it wasn’t all that bad.

He could get as many drinks as he wanted – or as many as bartender Stiles would allow. He could listen to good music from a jukebox that only played tunes released before he was born. And, as an added bonus, or curse, he could keep an eye on Jax.

Jax, who was currently seated at the leather sofa across the room, caressing the bare thigh of a skinny blonde croweater. It wasn’t like Dean was jealous or anything, because he wasn’t. He and Jax had agreements about that sort of thing, but usually it included one of them being out of town. The current situation was considerably different. If Jax took that girl to bed, it wouldn’t be about getting off or scratching and itch, it would be payback for Dean keeping secrets.

“He’s hurt, wants to hurt you back,” Stiles said thoughtfully, setting a cold beer in front of him. “You know, an apology and confession might go a long way here.”

“Is that right?” Dean knew Jax well enough to know an apology wouldn’t mean shit. “And here I was hoping a few sexual favors could distract him from how pissed he is with me.”

“I think the lady on his lap has that covered.” The teenager noted with a sad smile.

“Don’t remind me,” Dean resisted the urge to look over his shoulder to see if things had escalated past on-top of the clothes stuff for the pair. “What’re you doing play bartender, anyway? You’re a teenager, shouldn’t you be at home playing video games or something?”

“Well, you’ve got my gaming buddy’s laptop,” Stiles tipped a glass to Juice, who was keeping a watchful eye on his prized computer from the bar stool beside Dean’s. “It’s no fun playing by myself. I would play the good son and help clean up grandpa’s old place, but I thought Dad might want to get reacquainted with his family home in private.”

“The house here in town, right?” If Dean remembered correctly, Stilinski had grown up next door to Gemma. “You guys are actually doing it, moving here?”

“Right now, we’re just putting off cleaning the crime scene tape off our house in Beacon Hills,” Stiles groused, eyes darkening. “We’re just crashing in Charming until my school suspension is over or we decide to move, whichever comes first.”

“Huh,” Personally, Dean would vote to move, if he had a vote. “Well, having you closer, in a long term kind of way, would be good for Jax.”

“You know what else would be good for Jax?” Stiles smacked a hand over Dean’s phone as it began to vibrate on the bar. “You being alive at the end of the week.”

“Cute.” Dean huffed, batting Stiles hand away from his cell so he could answer it. “Yeah?”

 _“Hey,”_ Bobby’s gruff voice greeted him. _“Think I finally got a bead on Bela.”_

“I’m listening.” They’d been searching for Bela for months, coming up empty each time.

_“Rufus Turner.”_

“Rufus Turner?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, like Dean had read it from his father’s journal or heard it somewhere. “Who’s that? Like a Cleveland steamer?”

“Rufus Turner?” Juice choked on the beer he’d been drinking. “What do you guys want with him?”

“Ssh,” Dean was having a hard enough time hearing Bobby over the party going on, he didn’t need Juice’s voice in his ear too. “Who’s Rufus, Bobby?”

 _“He’s a hunter, or he used to be. Now, he’s mostly a hermit. Does a little selling on the side.”_ Bobby disclosed. _“Anyway. I put the word out on Bela months ago. He just got a call, said a woman got in touch, wanted to buy some things. She had a British accent, went by the name Mina Chandler.”_

“She’s used that one before,” To a woman like Bela, aliases we a dime a dozen. “It’s kind of a sloppy move, isn’t it? Getting in contact with one of your old friends?”

 _“Friend?”_ Bobby scoffed at the insinuation. _“Haven’t laid eyes on him in fifteen years. He’s not the Christmas card type. I doubt she knows I know him. The location’s Canaan, Vermont.”_

“Thanks, Bobby. I’m on my way,” Dean said his goodbyes, snapped his phone closed, and downed the rest of his beer in one long gulp. “All right, kids, I’m out of here.”

“Whoa! Pump the brakes,” Stiles squawked. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find Bela and the Colt.” If he could get his hands on the gun, he could kill the demon who held his contract and free himself from it. He could also use it on Bela, if his heart so desired. “She contacted an old friend of Bobby’s. I’m gonna go meet up with him and get her location.”

“Bobby’s friend,” Juice spoke up, bouncing his knee up and down nervously. “That’d be Rufus Turner?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, standing from the bar stool. “Why?”

“Oh, uh, nothing.” Juice said in a rush, picking absently at the label on his beer. “No reason.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean didn’t buy it, but he didn’t care enough to dig deeper for the truth. “Hey, can I take your laptop with me? Sam has ours. I promise to bring it back in mostly the same condition.”

“Fuck no,” Juice ripped the computer away from him, clutching it close to his chest. “She doesn’t go anywhere without me, and I’m not going with you.”

“All right, jeez,” He didn’t want to use it that badly anyway. “If I need to do any research, I’ll just go to the library. I’ll see you guys in a day or two.”

If Dean were a stronger person, he would just walk out the door without a word, leave Jax to the croweater and his anger. Jax would need both when Dean was well and truly gone from his life, the anger to distract him from his grief, and the croweater to distract him from his loneliness. If Dean were a stronger man, he’d let Jax have that, but he’d never been particularly strong where Jax was concerned.

Unable to leave well enough alone, Dean strode across the room to the couch Jax was now stretched out on, with the scantily clad girl lying on top of him, grinding her pelvis against his. The pair were too busy swapping spit to acknowledge Dean’s presence, he had to tap Jax’s knee to get his attention, only to receive a middle-finger in response. The silent ‘fuck off’ gesture had the opposite effect of what Jax had probably been expecting.

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” Dean nudged the blonde against the back cushions, making room for himself to get up close and personal with the biker laid out beneath her. “Just need a second.”

He ignored the chick’s indignant glare as he leaned in to press his lips to Jax’s. The other man remained completely still, not giving Dean an inch, keeping his jaw clenched and lips set in a firm line. The lack of participation infuriated Dean, fueled him into tangling a hand in Jax’s long locks and wrenching his head back roughly. Jax gasped at the assault, mouth falling open, allowing Dean to slip his tongue inside.

He put everything he needed to into the kiss. Each nip of teeth to Jax’s lips was a promise of a future he wished desperately they could have. The swipes of his tongue were apologies owed but left unsaid. The breath he stole from Jax was reminiscent of how they felt about each other, but had never found the right words to express. It was only when he was confident Jax had _heard_ him, heard everything he couldn’t say, did he break the kiss.

“We’re gonna have this out when I get back, Jackson.”

“Yeah, okay, Dean.”

* * *

 

The party began winding down fairly early in the night. The volume of the music had been lowered, the hard liquor replaced by beer, and most of the recreational drugs were either gone or stashed away. When dance partners turned into bed buddies and started stripping off clothing to do the dirty wherever they could find a hard surface, that’s when Stiles and Juice had begged off. 

They didn’t go far, choosing to sit in relative silence at the picnic table next to the boxing ring. They were sharing a joint and basking in the beauty of the night sky when they were rudely interrupted, by a Winchester no less.

“Hey,” Sam waved, slamming the door of a possibly stolen car. “My brother around?”

“He left a while ago,” Stiles told him, passing the smoke to Juice. “Does Derek know you took his car again?”

“Yeah, he said I could use it for a few hours,” Sam claimed, shoving Stiles leg off the end of the bench to make room for himself. “Where’d Dean go?”

“To see an old friend of Bobby’s who has a lead on Bela,” Stiles didn’t ask for specific details, like an exact location. “I thought he would’ve told you.”

“No, he didn’t,” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe him.”

“What’s the problem?” Juice asked, stupidly giving Sam the opening to include them in whatever issue he was having. “Or, maybe, ‘ _What supernatural crisis do you have today?’_ would be the better question.”

“So, yesterday, in Erie, Pennsylvania, a guy walked into the ER and keeled over dead.” Sam’s mood shifted dramatically as he grinned, becoming far too excited about a dead guy than any normal person should be. “His liver was removed, surgically, by someone who knew their way around a scalpel. The rest of his body was intact.”

“Riveting,” Stiles deadpanned, failing to see what was so fascinating about that. “Organ theft and trafficking is a nasty but very human business.”

“The body was covered in bloody fingerprints—not the vics. The prints match a guy who died in 1981.” Sam gushed, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “What does that tell you?”

“Somebody fucked up,” Juice replied with a shrug. “Human error or computer glitch when they ran the prints.”

“No! Look, um, there was another victim. A survivor that had their kidney stolen. His wound was sewn up with silk,” Sam paused, either waiting for Stiles and Juice to have an ‘aha’ moment or, more likely, for dramatic effect. “Silk used to be the suture of choice back in the early 19th century. It was really problematic. Patients would get massive infections. The death rate was insane.”

“Good times.”

“Right, so doctors, they had to do whatever they could to keep infections from spreading. One way was maggots,” Sam cringed in disgust. “It actually kind of worked, because maggots eat bad tissue and leave good tissue. And get this, when they found our guy, his body cavity was stuffed full of maggots.”

“Well, I’m glad I skipped dinner,” Stiles felt nauseous just picturing that. “So, people are having their organs stolen by a surgeon with a hard-on for old-timey medical techniques. To me that still says human.”

“Well, that’s because the bad guy is human,” Sam removed his father’s journal from his jacket pocket and laid it open in front of them. “Or he was human.”

“Oh good, you already have a suspect,” Stiles scanned the page briefly, making mental notes of important information. “Doc Benton?”

“Real-life doctor who lived in New Hampshire. He was _brilliant_ and obsessed with alchemy, especially how to live forever,” Sam was getting dangerously close to fan-boy territory. “So, in 1816, the doc abandoned his practice, and like twenty-years later, all the sudden, people started showing up dead or-or missing an organ or a hand or some other kind of part.”

“So whatever he was doing was working,” Juice determined. “He just kept on ticking. When his parts wore out, he’d replace them.”

“Hey, I hate to burst your bubble, Sammy, ‘cause it sounds like you got a bit of a crush on this guy,” If Stiles wasn’t already aware of Sam’s questionable taste in romantic partners, he might be a little concerned. “But you dad’s journal says he hunted Benton down and cut out his heart.”

“Yeah, I read that too,” Sam snatched the journal back up, closing it up tight. “I guess Benton must have plugged in a new one.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Coupled together with the recent string of murders following Benton’s M.O., Stiles could buy that theory. “Looks like you got a case to work, bud. Have fun. Try not to die.”

“Well, you see, I was going to go handle it myself, but to do that, I needed Dean to go to Beacon Hills and help Derek with the kanima, Argents, and all that,” It was good to know how much confidence the Winchesters really had in Derek’s abilities. “But Dean’s gone, so I can’t leave.”

“That sucks,” Normally, they’d call in an outside hunter to deal with Benton, but Stiles had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen this time. “Ah crap. You’re shucking this case off on me, aren’t you?”

“I’d ask you to help with Derek, but after what happened with you and the kanima,” Sam stared pointedly at the finger-shaped bruises around Stiles throat. “You’re done with kanima stuff.”

“Oh good, my evil plan worked.” Stiles snorted, pulling up the collar of his jacket to cover the purple and black marring his neck. “Just what I wanted all along.”

“With you off _that_ case, I need you to take this one,” Sam declared, handing J.W.’s journal over to him once more. “For Dean.”

“For Dean?” He was probably going to regret asking, but.... “How is this about Dean?”

“If we can find out exactly how Benton’s managed to stay alive this long, we can use his methods to save Dean,” Sam smiled hopefully. “He can’t go to hell if he never dies, right?”

“Yeah, right,” It was a Hail Mary, but it was also the only shot they had to protect Dean. “All right. Yeah. I’ll do it. I’ll get Doc Benton to talk.”

“I’ll go with you,” Juice volunteered, snubbing out the joint he still held. “You shouldn’t do it alone, it’s too dangerous. I’ll go.”

“All right. Cool.” Stiles didn’t much feel like going by himself anyway. “You put together some provisions and get a bag packed. I gotta go talk to my dad, see if I can take his truck, because there’s no way the Jeep’s making it all the way to Pennsylvania. We’ll leave in an hour, okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Juice agreed, but made no move to rise from the picnic bench. “So, Dean’s going to hell. That’s the big secret, huh?”

“Yep,” A secret Stiles was tired of keeping. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

 

Derek was beginning to think Scott was taking advantage of their temporary alliance. The kid was developing a bad habit of just showing up unannounced at the subway station, acting like he belonged there or something.

“We need to talk about the kanima,” Scott said, stepping into the subway car Derek had holed himself up in. “About how to deal with it.”

“We need a new plan,” Derek had realized that the minute the last plan went to shit. “Because next time, one of us is gonna be too hurt to heal.”

“We can’t save Jackson.”

“We can’t seem to kill him either,” Or keep him restrained, which was a big problem. “I’ve seen a lot of things, Scott. I’ve never seen anything like this. Every new moon’s just gonna make him stronger.”

“Maybe we should let the Argent’s handle it,” Scott suggested hesitantly, as if he knew how well his idea would be received. “They have experience.”

“No. I’m the one who turned him,” The kanima became Derek’s responsibility when he decided to sink his teeth into Jackson. “It’s my fault.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t turn him into _this_ ,” Scott reasoned pragmatically. “I mean, this happened because of something in his past, right?”

“That’s a legend in a book,” Books didn’t always tell the full story, or the truth. “It’s not that simple.”

“What do you mean?” Scott pushed him for answers. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Why do you think I’m always keeping things from you?” Derek thought he’d been pretty upfront about his knowledge and intentions regarding the kanima.

“Because you always are keeping something from me.”

“Yeah, because you’re so forthcoming with information,” Derek countered hotly. “Maybe I keep things from you to protect you.”

“Doesn’t me being part of your pack mean no more secrets?” Scott questioned, mistaking their alliance for something it wasn’t.

Derek rolled his eyes, ignoring the kid’s naiveté in favor of wrestling the buzzing phone from his pants pocket. The screen lit up with one missed call and an unread text message.

 **NEW TEXT MESSAGE:** **DAD:** ‘On my way. Stay put. Don’t do anything until I get there.’

“Derek!” The young wolf snapped impatiently, stomping his foot for good measure.

“Go home, Scott. Sleep. Heal. Make sure your friends are safe.” That was all the advice Derek had to offer. “’Cause the full moon’s coming. And the way things are going, I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be a rough one.”

* * *

 

For Stiles, the hardest part of preparing for the hunt was convincing his dad to let him go. Even his father’s confidence in his survival skills wasn’t enough assurance that he wouldn’t get himself killed. In the end, it took some sad eyes and a guilt trip to wear his dad down. With his dad’s approval and his bag packed, Stiles spent the remainder of the hour on unfinished business, namely the kanima case.

They were out of Beacon Hills, for however long, and his dad was suspended from the department, but that kanima’s murders still sat at the forefront of their minds. Stiles wanted to solve the case for selfish reasons, so his dad wouldn’t leave the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department with a blemish on his record. It was driving his dad crazy too, though his reasoning was far more altruistic. The kanima case was it for them, once it was done they could leave Beacon Hills with clear consciences.

So before they had left town, they’d gathered personal copies of the case files, and anything they’d discovered on their own pertaining to the kanima’s murders, like old school yearbooks and newspaper clippings, and brought it with them to Charming. Together they spread it all out on the dining room table, hoping to pick up on something they may have missed.

“I spoke with Deputy Graeme— _Sheriff_ Graeme this afternoon. She told me they brought your chemistry teacher, Adrian Harris, in for questioning.” His dad reported as he sifted through the case files. “They’re working on a warrant to arrest him for the kanima’s murders.”

“All of them?” Stiles had mulled over the idea of Harris being the kanima’s master, purely out of spite, but ultimately dismissed him as a suspect. “With what proof? He’s been on ‘vacation’ hasn’t he? That’s how Sam’s been able to take over his class.”

“He’s using vacation days to take time off work, but he’s still in town, or at least his car is. Here, you see this,” The older man took a photo of vehicle treads from a file and showed it to him. “You remember the couple from the trailer? The husband and pregnant wife? Tire tracks nearby match Harris’s car.”

“Okay….” Suspicious? Yeah. Concrete proof of Harris’s guilt? No. “That’s not enough.”

“The same car was seen at the hospital where the pregnant wife was killed,” The next picture in the stack was a still-frame from a security camera outside the hospital. “It’s got some bumper sticker on it, a quote from Einstein. Something about imagination and knowledge.”

“ _’Imagination is more important than knowledge._ ’” Stiles recited the quote from memory. “I think I saw it on a car outside the rave.”

“You’re a witness,” His dad fidgeted anxiously with the ring on his finger. “Should have you call Graeme, give her a statement.”

“About what? I mean, I know Harris is shady as shit, and most of the victims were former students of his,” There was evidence stacked against Stiles chemistry teacher, but it didn’t all fit together. “But what about the girl killed at the rave, the club promoter, Kara? She wasn’t in Harris’s class. And what does Mr. Lahey have to do with Harris?”

“The tire tracks from Harris’s car were at the site of three murders, Stiles,” It looked bad, and was more than enough to warrant the cops looking into Harris. “You know, I thought you hated this guy. Hell, I hate this guy.”

“I don’t hate him, all right? He hates me.” There was a difference, not a big one, but enough of one to keep him objective. “And, you know, if he’d killed them all, then yeah, lock the psycho up. If that were the case, I’d be the first one calling him out for being the kanima’s master, but…there’s something missing. There’s gotta be something missing.”

“Hey, hey,” His dad rubbed his shoulders consolingly. “You don’t have to solve this for me.”

“Yeah, I do. I have to do something,” Stiles murmured sourly as he flipped through the pages of a BHHS yearbook from 2006, until his father stopped him with a hand on a page. “What? You see something?”

“Look at the swim team,” His dad pointed to the team photo near the bottom of the page. “All of our victims were on the team.”

“Dad, the coach,” Stiles used his finger to underline the name printed beneath the picture. “It’s Isaac’s dad, Mr. Lahey.”

“Now we just need to find out who had a grudge against the 2006 swim team,” He dad acknowledged. “It could be another teacher, like Harris, or even a former student.”

“So aside from knowing how the victim’s were chosen, we’re still pretty much nowhere,” Stiles slumped over the table in defeat. “Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Watch your mouth,” His dad chastised him with a soft swat to the back of his head. “We’ll figure it out, we will.”

“Knock, knock,” Juice called out, letting himself into the house. “I know I’m early, but I got my stuff together, thought I’d come by, see if you were ready to go.”

“Yeah, I am.” Stiles pushed the yearbook aside and stood from the table. “We just need to stop for gas on the way out of town.”

“Okay,” Juice nodded, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Hey, um, are we sure leaving Sam and Derek in charge of the kanima stuff is the best idea?”

“No, but we don’t have any other options,” They weren’t in the position to be choosy, but that didn’t mean Stiles didn’t think ahead. “Don’t worry, I called Bobby. He’s coming back to supervise.”

“Good, good,” Juice breathed a sigh of relief. “Less chance they’ll both die that way.”

“We’ve got more important things to worry about than kanima bullshit,” Time sensitive things. “If we can’t convince this Doc Benton guy to give up his trade secrets, Dean’s going to be spending an eternity in hell.”

‘Yeah, okay,” Juice shifted nervously from foot-to-foot. “No pressure.”

“Hey, I’m not looking forward to this anymore than you are,” It was kind of funny how the one hunt that could help Dean out of his deal had been dumped on the two people who had zero desire to be hunters. “Hunting some immortal doctor was not how I imagined spending my school suspension.”

“You’ll be spending most of it in the car. Do you know how far away Erie, Pennsylvania is?” If he didn’t, Juice was surely about to tell him. “I looked it up. It’s over thirty-seven hours by car, Stiles, and that’s one-way.”

“Well, maybe instead of playing dumb road trip games on the way,” Stiles loathed road trip games. “You can tell me why you got super jumpy when Dean mentioned he was going to meet Rufus Turner.”

“Oh boy, that sounds like fun,” Juice winced like the idea physically pained him. “Alternatively, we could listen to music the whole way. I made a new road mix.”

“You boys just be careful,” Stiles dad requested, grudgingly trading his truck keys to Stiles for the Jeeps. “Call if you need anything. I can hop on a plane and be there in a few hours.”

“We’ll be fine, Dad, I promise.”

“You better be.”

* * *

 

It was early in the afternoon, only a few short hours until the sun went down and the full moon rose, when Derek decided it was time to prepare his betas for what would happen to them. He lugged an old family trunk out from the subway car and onto the platform, and just as he suspected, the betas interest in a Hale family relic that survived the fire garnered him their full attention. Their interest piqued further when he opened the trunk to display the range of torture devices it kept hidden.

“What is that?” Isaac asked, referring to the triple spiral symbol on the inside panel of the lid.

“It’s a triskele,” Boyd answered before Derek could get a word in. “Spirals mean different things – past, present, future. Mother, father, child.”

“You’re right,” Derek praised the beta. “Do you know what it means to me?”

“Alpha, beta, omega?”

“That’s right. It’s a spiral,” He traced the symbol with his finger. “Reminds us that we can all rise to one or fall to another. Betas can become alphas, but alphas can also fall to betas or even omegas.”

“Like Scott?”

“Scott’s with us,” If the current arrangement went well, maybe he and Scott could discuss making him a permanent member of the pack, as a beta instead of the omega he was. “For now.”

“Oh really,” Isaac sneered. “Then where is he?”

“He’s looking for Jackson. Don’t worry, he’s not gonna have it easy tonight either. None of us will.” The moon would be easiest on Derek, he had a lifetime of experience dealing with its pull. Scott and the betas, however, were in for a hell of a ride. “There’s a price you pay for this kind of power. You get the ability to heal, but tonight you’re going to want to kill anything you can find.”

“Good thing I had my period last week, then.” Erica quipped with a saucy smirk.

“Well, this one’s for you,” Derek held up a device that would be bolted to her head, and was about to explain how it worked when he caught a whiff of his father’s scent in the air. “You guys can look through the trunk. I’ve got something to take care of.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, his dad appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Derek quietly beckoned him into a subway car where they could have a semblance of privacy.

“What’s going on?” It had to be bad if his dad had rushed all the way from Sioux Fall’s to talk about it. “Did something happen?”

“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” The old man remarked grimly, leaning a hip against one of the seats. “Did you bite Victoria Argent?”

“No.” Why on earth would he do something so cataclysmically stupid? “Why would you ask me that?”

“A hunter I know, who does business with the Argents, said an alpha bit Victoria at the rave. Once on the shoulder, once above the breast,” Bobby gestured to the spots on his own person. “You got into it with her at the rave when you rescued Scott. So, I have to ask, son.”

“She attacked me from behind. She wasn’t in front of me long enough for me to bite her once, let alone twice,” He’d been hazy from the wolfsbane vapors, sure, but he would have remembered the putrid taste of Argent blood in his mouth. “If someone bit her, it wasn’t me.”

“They know it was an alpha. They’re readying to put her down before she can turn tonight during moon,” Bobby relayed the hunter’s plans for the family matriarch. “You and Scott are the only two wolves we know she had contact with.”

“Well, it couldn’t have been Scott, he’s not an alpha,” The Argents knew that, which meant their suspect list contained one name and it happened to belong to him. “I did not do it. I wouldn’t turn one of them.”

“To them, it doesn’t a matter who actually did the biting, son.” His dad said bitterly. “She named _you_. You are the one they are coming for.”

“She named me,” That was, well, expected, given how much animosity there was between he and the Argent family, but it also revealed something Victoria probably didn’t want them to know. “That means…she must know who really bit her.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I did not bite her in that warehouse, and I didn’t have the strength to chase her down and do it after she ran out,” The combination of a knife to the back and wolfsbane poisoning had weakened him considerably.  “And if it was a rogue alpha, why not just say that?”

“Because she was in on it,” Bobby scowled as the pieces fell into place. “Why hide the identity of who did it, unless she was in on it.”

“Exactly,” There was just one thing Derek couldn’t wrap his head around. “But why? Why would she orchestrate her own bite if she was just going to kill herself before she could turn?”

“She was trying to kill Scott because he was still dating Allison, right?” His dad questioned, a theory forming in his mind. “It’s the one way to push her daughter to see wolves the way their family does. Allison’s grief over losing her mother will turn into rage, that rage will find an outlet in revenge – not just against you, but all wolves, including Scott.”

“Still doesn’t answer the question of who actually bit her,” The real perpetrator wouldn’t matter to the Argents, but Derek would like to know if there was another alpha in his backyard.

“It’s possible Victoria made a deal with another pack. They do her a favor and her family doesn’t exterminate them,” Knowing the Argents, they’d double cross the pack once they got what they wanted. “You built your pack so quickly, others would take notices of it. One pack in particular comes to mind.”

“You’re talking about the alpha pack,” Derek had never met them personally, but he’d heard stories about them over the years. “You think they’re here?”

“If they’re not here already, they’re definitely on their way. And if they are already here….”

“One of them could have bitten Victoria.”

* * *

 

Sam wasn’t entirely sure how he let himself be roped into attending a teenage girls birthday party. He was fairly certain Lydia blitz attacked him, cornering him in a classroom and sliding an invitation into his pocket. She said it was special, just for him, which felt a little like manipulation or maybe mind control, because the next thing he knew he was blushing and agreeing to be there.

Here’s the thing, though, once he’d come to his senses, he had no intention of actually going to the party. He didn’t want to be the creepy older guy who graduated years ago but still thought he was hip. However, once he witnessed Lydia invite Jackson, he knew he had to go. He’d handed off the Doc Benton case to keep an eye on the kanima, and that was what he was going to do. Long story short, that’s how he ended up the creepy older guy at a high school party.

Luckily, he didn’t have to avoid many of his students, seeing as the party was seriously lacking guests. Aside from himself and the host, the only people around were Scott and Allison.

“When Lydia said this was the biggest party of the year, I guess I expected there to be more…everything,” The birthday’s Sam had spent in motel rooms with his dad and brother were more exciting. “Are we early?”

“I don’t think so,” Scott shrugged, sipping his punch. “I don’t think anyone’s coming, Lydia’s sort of the town whack job.”

“We should do something,” Allison suggested, taking the phone from her purse to do just that. “She wouldn’t be the town whack job if it wasn’t for us.”

“I guess I could use my co-captain status to get the lacrosse team here.” Scott said, taking his own phone out. “That should get the party going. What about you, Sam?”

“The only people I know in your age bracket are Stiles and Derek’s betas,” Sam wasn’t about to call any of them. “No offense or anything, but hanging out with the likes of you isn’t their idea of a good time.”

“But it’s yours?”

“I saw Lydia invite Jackson,” If the kanima showed up, there was a good chance its master might too. “I haven’t seen him yet, though.”

“He’ll show up,” Allison said confidently. “He still cares about Lydia. If she invited him, he wouldn’t hurt her by ditching the party.”

“What is Matt doing here?” Scott asked, glaring at the dark-haired teenager walking through the door. “Allison, did you invite him?”

“The party isn’t invite-only, Scott. The entire school knows about it,” Allison retorted. “I wouldn’t have had to invite him.”

“Did you _want_ to invite?” Scott inquired, kicked-puppy expression locked and loaded. “Did your ‘fake’ date with him go that well?”

“Oh, my god, Scott,” Allison groaned in annoyance. “Do you really want to do this now?”

“Teenagers.…” Sam would’ve bolted then and there to escape the drama, if Lydia hadn’t come up beside him carrying two cups filled to the brim with punch. “Uh, hi.”

“Drink up,” She offered the drinks to those without any, in this case, Sam and Allison. “It’s delicious. My own special recipe.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Sam sniffed the beverage to determine it was alcohol free before taking a sip. “It’s great, thanks.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” She assured him, a pleased grin spreading across her lips as she caught sight of a familiar face at the door. “Oh good, Jackson’s here.”

“Awesome,” Sam muttered to himself, knocking back the rest of the punch like a shot. “This wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

“Excuse me?” The redhead turned her sharp gaze on him. “What was that?”

“Oh, um, great party,” He smiled awkwardly. “I’m gonna go get more punch.”

“You do that.”

* * *

 

Road tripping with Stiles was quieter than Juice thought it would be. Once in a while he’d sling along with a radio, but other than that Stiles was pretty much mute. Juice didn’t take offense to it, he knew it wasn’t his company making Stiles tense, it was the distance.

Stiles hated being away from home, from his father and brother. He had a rule about staying within a two-hour driving radius from Beacon Hills and Charming – a rule they were definitely breaking. Juice was pretty sure the kid thought his whole world would implode if he was away too long, and who knows, maybe it would.

Maybe that was why they took turns driving, so they could get to Erie as quickly as possible, the sooner they got there, the sooner they could get things done and go home. They refused to stop for anything more than fuel and food until they were well past the halfway point. By then, they were so tired from sitting in a car for nearly a full day, they had to pull off and rent a motel room to crash for a couple hours.

Stiles had elected to drop his bag on a chair by the dresser and jump in the shower as soon as they got into the room, while Juice just splayed himself out on the bed closest to the door. He was so exhausted, he could barely find the energy to toe off his boots, but not tired enough to actually sleep, apparently. He tried to focus on the sound of water from the shower, hoping it would lull him to sleep, but Stiles didn’t stay in their nearly long enough for it to work.

The teenager shuffled out of the bathroom, bare-chested, donning only a pair of loose fitting sweats. He didn’t pay Juice any mind, probably assuming he was asleep, just bent over his duffle bag to rummage through it. The position gave Juice a full view of the freckles and moles littering the pale skin of his back, as well as the thick, raised, pink, and silver patches of skin surrounding his spine.

“Shit. Sorry.” Stiles sheepishly apologized when he turned around, t-shirt in hand, and caught Juice staring. “Forgot a shirt.”

“It’s okay,” They were both guys, it was nothing neither of them hadn’t seen before. “What happened to the rest of your scars?”

“My scars?”

“The ones on your back,” Juice could remember when they were still fresh wounds with blood seeping through the stitches. “From the ‘car accident’ when you were eleven. There used to be more of them, right?”

“Right,” Stiles confirmed, holding the shirt close to his chest like a shield. “Skin grafts. I got the big ones done first, but I didn’t see the point in getting the rest of them done. I’d look in the mirror and they’d all still be there.”

“Some scars run deeper than the skin,” Juice acknowledged, pulling himself up into a sitting position. “Will you tell me how you got them?”

“You already know. You said it,” Stiles reminded him. “Car accident.”

“Yeah, you claimed it was glass from the car windows,” Juice wasn’t denying there’d been a car accident, he knew for a fact there had been, but he was sure they didn’t cause the injuries to his back. “I helped change your bandages after, remember? I saw the damage. If it had been broken glass, the wounds would’ve been jagged, uneven, and all over the place, but they weren’t. They were finely cut, probably with a scalpel or a knife, methodically placed in a specific area of your back. And some pre-dated the crash.”

“What can I say, I was an accident prone kid,” Stiles joked, downplaying his injuries. “Those woodchips at the playground were dangerous, I used to fall off the monkey bars and onto them all the time.”

“Hey, I’m not trying to pry. You don’t have to tell me anything. You just…you’ve been tense, and I think…I think you carry a lot of secrets, and the weight of them shows. I just thought talking about one could help lighten your load.” Unburdening the soul was supposed to be cathartic, that’s all Juice wanted for Stiles. “It doesn’t have to be _that_ secret. It could be any of them. I won’t tell anyone. Your past is your past, it doesn’t belong to anyone else. If you want to tell me, it’ll stay in the vault.”

“I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me one of yours,” Stiles bargained with him. “What do you say?”

“Okay,” There weren’t many secrets Juice had that he didn’t feel comfortable sharing with Stiles. “Do you want to start?”

“This conversation really should be told over copious amounts of hard liquor.” Stiles muttered, slipping on his shirt and settling onto the other bed, setting cross-legged on the duvet. “It’ll help me tell it and you hear it.”

“I’m not buying you booze, Stiles,” Him being at a motel with a teenager looked bad enough, he wasn’t adding alcohol to the mix. “I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

“You’re gonna eat those words.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“Once upon a time, there were two sisters who lost their parents when they were little girls and became wards of the state of New York,” Stiles narrated his story like a book, a way to separate himself from it, emotionally and mentally. “We’ll call these girls _C_ and _S_ , okay?”

“Okay.”

“The girls bounced around the foster system for a while, and the older sister, C, acted as a maternal figure to her baby sister, S. Even after they were adopted by a nice family, and after they became adults, S always looked to C to be her mother.” Stiles picked at a loose string on his pant leg to keep his hands busy. “Now, in the autumn of 1999, C found herself far away from home and her sister, in a small town in California by the name of Beacon. She met a man there—“

“A lawman, right?” Juice interjected, determining _C_ stood for Stiles stepmother, Claudia, which made the man Sheriff Stilinski.

“Yes, he was a lawman. A lawman with a little boy and no wife to speak of. C and lawman fell in love quickly and deeply, and were married six months after they’d met.” Stiles smiled, recalling happier times, but sobered in an instant. “S was happy for her sister, she was, until C and the lawman decided to raise their family in Beacon, not New York.”

“What did she do?”

“She let her anger fester, until it overflowed a few short years later, when her sister C succumbed to a devastating illness,” The teenager took in a deep breath, tears shining in his eyes as he recalled the loss of his mother. “S felt betrayed. C had been a mother to her, her entire life, yet chose to spend her remaining years being a mother to a little boy who didn’t belong to her. S believed the little boy had stolen C from her, and so she had to punish him for it.”

“Stiles, you….” Juice stiffened, a sick feeling settled in his gut, making him second-guess what he asked of Stiles. “You don’t have to….”

“That was all the knives and matches were at first, a punishment. But something…shifted inside the betrayed sister,” Stiles voice grew hoarse as he continued. “When she cut into the little boy to watch his blood flow, or seared his skin with fire, when she heard his screams, his cries, his whimpers, she felt a stirring in her loins, a pleasure she could only describe as primal.”

“Jesus, Stiles.” Juice choked on the breath lodged in his throat.

“S came to realize that it wasn’t revenge she wanted from the little boy, it was love. Not the kind of love the little boy had offered up to her sister C so happily, that of a son to a mother,” Stiles dug his nails into the palm of his hand, trying to stay in control of himself. “S wanted the kind of love from the little boy that no one should ever seek from a child. When the little boy refused her, she took what she wanted by force.”

“You don’t have to keep going,” Juice gave him the out he so clearly needed, but Stiles carried on, undeterred, unafraid.

“The little boy grew weary as the abuse wore on, tired of hiding his pain, of pretending everything was okay. He tried to tell his father, the lawman, what was going on, but S always found a way to stop him,” The desperation Stiles felt as a child was ever present in his tone. “Once by trying to take her own life, placing the blame on the little boy’s hatred of her. And once by intentionally crashing the car they were traveling in, nearly killing them both.”

“T-That I remember—your aunt being the driver of the car,” That was pretty much all the information the club was given about the incident. “That’s why your dad sent you to Charming after you were released from the hospital. He wanted to get you away from her.”

“The little boy woke up in a beige room, his right arm and left leg in casts. His father was at his side, worried, but thankful he was awake. He’d been asleep for days, you see, and his father hadn’t left him in all those days, the stench of them was heavy on his uniform.” Stiles scrunched up his nose, as if he could still smell his dad’s rank body odor. “The hospital gave the little boy a false sense of security, so he sent his father home to shower and change, and to pick up a few books for them to read to pass the time. However, not long after his father left did S sneak out of her room and into the little boy’s.”

“Stiles….”

“She begged the little boy not to tell their secret, and when the boy said no, she climbed into the bed, on top of him, and took what she wanted from him one last time,” A combination of anger and shame flickered over the teenager's features. “S made a mistake that day. She stayed in his bed long after the deed was done, whispering her love for him into his ear, and pleading with him not to tell. She didn’t know that an old man, with a nickname like a tree, was coming to check on the little boy, that he would catch her in the act.”

“Piney,” Juice whispered the name like a prayer. “He found her with you.”

“The old man forced S off the little boy. There was a fight, security was called, and the little boy’s father returned. The old man told the little boy’s father what he’d come upon, and the little boy had never seen his father so angry or heartbroken.” Stiles sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “His father didn’t attack the woman, as the old man had. He scooped his little boy up in his arms, and promised he’d be safe from S from now on.”

“Were you?”

“The next time the little boy saw S was in a courtroom, where she declared her love from him as an excuse for what she’d done,” Stiles worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he brought the story to a close. “His father, the lawman, had her locked up in a dark room far away, and the little boy never again laid eyes on her.”

“Fuck,” Juice dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck, Stiles. I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sorry none us saw it was happening.”

“Kids are amazing at hiding things. None of you saw it because I wouldn’t let you. Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Stiles let Juice and everyone else off the hook for not protecting him. “Hey, I’m one of the lucky ones. I had a great support system, a lot of kids don’t. And, you know, I’ve done my therapy, years of it, came out the other side mostly unscathed. I won’t say I’m not damaged, I still have my bad days, but I don’t think I’m…broken.”

“I never thought you were,” He wondered if that’s why Stiles kept his abuse a secret for so long, he believed they would forever see him as a victim. “I still don’t.”

“Yeah, so, uh, that’s me,” Stiles said uncertainly and shook himself off. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” No secret he had could match-up to that. “What do you want to know?”

“Rufus Turner. Friend or foe?”

“Of course. Should’ve known you weren’t gonna let that one go. Uh,” Juice’s answer was going to be grossly underwhelming compared to Stiles’ confession. “He’s family. My father, biologically.”

“Your father?” Stiles furrowed his brows. “Dude, I didn’t even know that was an option. I thought your old man was nurse and dead, not a hunter and alive.”

“My stepdad was an orderly and he is dead,” Okay, his stepdad wasn’t _legally_ dead, but that was an entirely different story. “Rufus is my father the way Gemma is your mother, you know, as in they are but they aren’t.”

“Yeah, no, I get that. Um, we’re gonna come back to that in a second,” Stiles decided, cocking his head to the side. “Uh, first, I think when we get home, we need to gather our hunter friends and give them a safe-sex talk, you know, remind them condoms are a thing.”

“As far as we know, it’s only the older generation that have illegitimate kids running around all over the country,” So far, he and Derek were the only ones they were aware of. “It’s possible no one ever told them the rhythm and pull-out methods don’t work.”

“That’s true. That’s why we need to explain condoms to them,” Stiles said, nodding to himself. “Okay, so, back to you and Rufus. He’s your bio-dad. How?”

“Well, when a man and a woman drink lots of flavored vodka together, shit happens.”

“Juice.”

“Let’s just say he hasn’t always gone by the name Rufus Turner. When he and my mom hooked up, he was Michael Cole,” Juice wasn’t sure how he felt about having a false name being listed on the ‘father’ side of his birth certificate. “He and my mom met while she was separated from my stepdad. Rufus was in town on a case. My mom owns a little diner, he would stop in for meals. She made him as a hunter the first time he walked in.”

“She knew about hunters?”

“Yep,” Tales of witches and hunters had been passed down in his family for generations. “Anyway. During his last few days in Queens, they ended up going out, getting drunk, and spending the weekend in bed together. That’s all it was, you know, a weekend.”

“Then he left town on another hunt,” Stiles made an educated guess. “And your mom found out she was pregnant with you.”

“And Rufus didn’t really leave a forwarding address or anything,” Juice’s mom had been more or less on her own until she and his stepdad reconciled a month after he was born. “Rufus didn’t know I existed until I was about a year-old. He was back in town for another case, decided to check in on my mom, see how she was doing, and found out he was a father.”

“What then?” Stiles asked, wanting to know more. “Did you spend every other weekend on the road with your bio-dad, hunting the things that went bump in the night? ‘Cause, you know, that would explain why you hate it so much.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t spend quality time with him, not regularly anyway. I already had a dad that I’d bonded with, and Rufus saw that,” When he was little and his stepdad was sober, Juice had pretty much been attached to his hip. “And there was the hunting thing. His job came with dangers, and he said he didn’t want to put me at risk. He, um, he had a daughter who he raised in the life, as a hunter, and she died on the job. He told my mom he couldn’t go through that again.”

“So you didn’t really know him then?” Stiles frowned. “When did you find out he was your biological father?”

“Oh, I’ve always known that,” It just wasn’t something he and Rufus had acknowledged out loud. “He would stop in if he was working on a hunt nearby. Sent birthday gifts and stuff sometimes. Once, while I was doing a stint in juvie, he used one of his aliases to get a job there as a guard.”

“He cares about you,” Stiles smiled warmly. “Is that feeling not mutual? I mean, the way you reacted when Dean said his name….”

“The last time I saw him, I was fifteen, I think. Back then, I was spending 98% of my time high out of my mind. I’d OD’d more than once,” Juice wasn’t proud of it, but a good portion of his adolescents revolved around finding a good vein to shoot a needle of poison into. “My mom was out of options, if I wasn’t getting high, I was in juvie. She couldn’t control me, but she couldn’t watch me kill myself either. So, she called Rufus for help, and I did not appreciate his interference. I went off, said some things I shouldn’t have, things I regret now.”

“Haven’t spoken since, huh?”

“Not a word,” It was his fault, he knew that, he closed that door and bolted it shut. “He tried to help and I shut him down. It wasn’t on him. I was just a fucking mess. I wasn’t ready to be helped, and there was nothing he or anyone else could’ve done to change that.”

“Hmm,” Stiles hummed. “You know, the life of a hunter isn’t generally a long one. If you want to fix things….”

“I should do it soon, I know.” He just wasn’t sure what he’d say or how he’d be received if he did contact Rufus to mend fences. “Hey, uh, we should get some sleep. Got a long day ahead of us.”

“Yep,” Stiles agreed, leaning over to switch off the lamp between their beds, cascading the room in darkness. “Hey, what I told you about what happened to me, Jax can’t know about it. It’d break him.”

“I told you, it’s in the vault.” Juice had no intention of sharing Stiles trauma with Jax or anyone else. “I won’t say anything, I promise.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said as he adjusted his pillows. “You do know if the Winchesters ever find out hunting is in your blood, they will never let you skip out on a hunt again.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” It was one of the reasons he kept his biological father’s identity a secret. “That’s why we’re not going to tell them or anyone else, right?”

“You keep my secret, I keep yours.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

* * *

 

When the moon rose, Derek came to the realization that he should not have turned three teenagers into werewolves in such a short timeframe. He should have spread it out over weeks or months, had one in control before biting another, so on and so forth. Having three betas unaccustomed to the strong pull of the moon was about more than Derek could handle, even with his dad’s help.

Thankfully, they’d only had one slip up so far. While Derek had been adjusting Boyd’s shackles, Erica had broken free of hers. The she-wolf had sniffed out the physically weakest person in the room, Derek’s human father, and lunged. Derek was forced to abandon Boyd before he could be properly secured, to prevent his dad from becoming wolf chow.

“Get back,” He shouted, shoving his father out of harm’s way and grabbing Erica by the neck, keeping her at arm’s length. “Get out of here, Dad! Go!”

“I’m not leaving you alone in here,” His dad growled, pulling his gun, aiming it above Derek’s shoulder. “Behind you, son!”

“No guns!” Derek snarled, knocking the weapon from his father’s hands as claws sunk into the meat of his back and Boyd’s scent filled his nostrils. “They just need to learn how to control their wolves. They don’t need to be shot.”

As quickly as Boyd had jumped on his back, he was ripped off it. Derek took his eyes off Erica for a moment to see Isaac wrestling the bigger beta back into his restraints.

“Derek, come on,” His dad nudged his arm, motioning to Erica. “Let’s make her a little less comfortable, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Together they managed to maneuver the she-wolf back to her designated area of the subway car. Derek took extra precautions when securing her, doubling up on the chains to prevent another breakout.

“He seems all right now,” Bobby nodded to Isaac, who had returned to his own seat near the back of the car. “But that can change as the night wears on.”

“Yeah,” Derek signed, making his way to the beta to deliver the bad news. “Isaac, we need to chain you back up.”

“Okay,” Isaac held out his hands, flexing his clawed fingers. “How do you not feel this?”

“I feel every second of it,” It flowed through Derek’s entire being, encompassing every part of him, trying to overpower him. “You need to find an anchor. Something meaningful. Bind yourself to it. Keep the human side of yourself in control.”

“I think he might have that covered,” Bobby noted, kneeling to secure the shackles around Isaac’s ankles. “Compared to the others, you seem okay, kid. What were you thinking about?”

“My dad.” He confessed, lowering his gaze, unable to meet his alpha’s eye.

“Your father locked you in a freezer in the basement to punish you,” Not that Derek had any room to judge anchor choices, his wasn’t exactly healthy. “He beat you.”

“He didn’t always,” Isaac murmured dejectedly. “What’s your anchor?”

“Anger,” Again, it wasn’t the healthiest choice, but it kept him in check.

“We’re gonna have to work on that,” His dad decided, shaking his head. “Isaac, you should be okay for the night. The chains are just in case. It’s better to be safe than sorry, you know.”

“That’s why you should go,” Derek wanted— _needed_ his father to be safe, he didn’t want to be sorry if one of his betas got loose and mauled the old man before he could rein them in. “If Erica or Boyd get free again—“

“We’ll handle it _together_ ,” His dad remarked. “I’m not leaving you when the Argents are out there somewhere gunning for you.”

“Dad—“

“This ain’t a discussion, son,” The stubborn old bastard dug in his heels, both figuratively and literally. “I’m staying. Stop being a goddamn sissy and deal with it.”

“You should probably listen to him,” Isaac advised his alpha. “You’re kind of in over your head here.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

* * *

 

Lydia’s birthday party had picked up considerably in the hours Sam had been there. The festivities had spilled out of the house and into the pool area as more guests arrived. Those who had been there a while were well into their stupid-drunk phases of the night.

Even Sam was feeling funny and he’d only had two glasses of punch. He hadn’t tasted alcohol in either, but he suspected it was laced with something to give it an extra kick. His theory was proven correct when a glimpse of a familiar leather jacket out of the corner of his eye pulled his gaze to a figure standing at the edge of the pool.

“Dean?” That couldn’t be right, Dean was supposed to be in Vermont looking for the Colt. “What’re you doing here?”

 _“Why won’t you save me, Sam?”_ His brother asked, tone dripping with betrayal. _“I made that deal for you. I thought you could save me time, but you haven’t! I was counting on you, Sammy. I’m gonna die and it’s your fault.”_

Without warning, his brother was attacked by an unseen force, something that clawed into his chest and tore flesh from his bones. Sam screamed, tears flooding down his cheeks as he watched his big brother be torn apart. He couldn’t stop it, he was frozen in place, unable to save the one person who had always saved him.

The sharp stab of grief hit him like a truck, shocking him from the apparent vision. Dean disappeared as if he’d never been there at all, leaving Sam alone, surrounded by strangers.

“Oh god,” He sobbed, wiping tears from his face as he fumbled his phone, calling the only person close enough to come get him. “Pick up, pick up. Come on.”

_“You done with your little birthday party already, boy?”_

“Bobby, s-something—something’s w-wrong,” Sam stammered, panic sitting like a lead weight in his stomach. “I need you to come get me. Something’s wrong.”

 _“What’s happening, son?”_ The worry in Bobby’s voice was palpable, even over the phone. _“Talk to me.”_

“I-I don’t know. Dean was here, then he was gone. Something killed him. It was my fault.” The hunter in him knew if it had really been Dean, he wouldn’t have just vanished, _something_ would have been left behind. “It felt so real. He just…it was so real.”

 _“Sam, I want you to get yourself some water, and find a safe place to sit and calm down_ ,” The elder hunter instructed him. _“I’m on my way, son, but I need you to text me the address so I know where I’m going. Can you do that for me, son?”_

“Y-Yeah. I can do that.”

_“Okay. Good.”_

* * *

 

Honestly, when he’d dialed Jax’s number, Dean hadn’t expected him to answer. It was late into the night, he figured the biker would be balls-deep in croweater snatch – not that he was jealous or anything. He wouldn’t lie, though, he was relieved when Jax picked up.

 _“I thought we were going to have this out when you got back,”_ There was no ‘hello’ or ‘what’s up’ to greet him, only Jax’s irritation. _“Or is this where you tell me you’ve decided to be a pussy and not come back.”_

“I’m coming back,” He had to, he’d left too much behind in Charming. “I just….”

_“You what, Dean?”_

“I thought it’d be okay, you know, until I got back.” He thought he could live with Jax’s hate if it were just for a little while. “It’s harder than I thought, being away right now.”

 _“So why not come back_? _Give the hunt to someone else and come home.”_

“I can’t,” This hunt, Bela, the Colt, it was deeply personal. “I have to be the one, Jax. I know you can’t understand that—“

 _“You’re right, I can’t,”_ Jax admitted. _“I can’t understand how you act like it is_ impossible _to hand over a case to another hunter, when you brother had no problem dumping one on my brother and Juice.”_

“Sam did what?” Dean had gotten a text about the Doc Benton case, but was left with the impression his brother had taken it himself. “I’m sorry, Jax. I didn’t know.”

 _“Why is that_ all _your cases are too personal to let go?”_

“They’re not all personal,” Although, this one just happened to be. “This one is the Colt, Jax. You know what it means if I find it.”

 _“You get your special demon-killing gun back,”_ He could practically hear Jax’s eyes roll. _“You went years without having it in your arsenal.”_

“And people died because of it,” Getting the Colt back was about so much more than killing the demon who held his contract. “I’m tired of watching people die, Jax. I can’t keep lighting funeral pyres for my friends, my family.”

 _“You know I understand that completely,”_ Jax had lost people too. _“I could be there, watching your back, if you weren’t so….”_

“So what?”

 _“So determined to get yourself killed,”_ Jax snapped. _“You should have someone there to watch out for you when it all goes to shit. Instead, you choose to go on your own and put yourself at risk.”_

“Well, I would have invited you to come along,” Dean lied, there was no way in hell he would have brought Jax along to track Bela. “But you kind of hate me, remember?”

 _“I don’t hate you. Don’t put fucking words in my mouth_.” Jax warned. _“I am pissed off, because you are keeping shit from me. You want to be square, you can start sharing.”_

“Not over the phone, Jax,” Face-to-face would be better, less chance of Dean running away when the truth was out. “When I get home, I’ll tell you everything. Okay?”

_“I’ll see you when you get home, Dean.”_

“Jax—“ The audible ‘click’ from the other line nearly had Dean throwing his phone across the room. “Damn it!”

* * *

 

The party had descended into chaos by the time Bobby arrived. Police sirens wailed in the distance, and kids were scrambling to get elsewhere before they closed in. He found Sam on the front steps, nursing a bottled water just as he’d told him to.

“What the hell is going on here?” Bobby questioned the younger Winchester as he helped him to his feet. “Neighbors get fed up with the noise and call the cops to break things up?”

“No. I think it was the screams. A kid fell into the pool. He couldn’t swim,” Sam reported, still visibly shaken, but sounding a hell of a lot calmer than he had on the phone. “Jackson’s the only one who went to help him, he pulled him out of the pool.”

“Hey Sam, have you seen Lydia?” Scott asked, joining them on the porch. “I can’t find her or Allison.”

“I saw Allison run out of here awhile ago. She looked pretty upset.” Sam disclosed, sipping his water. “I haven’t seen Lydia since she was plying me with punch earlier.”

“Yeah, that punch was….” Scott shuddered. “Whatever was in it was, um…I don’t know.”

“Did you see something?” Sam questioned the wolf, his face pinched in concern. “I-I saw something. My brother. I know it wasn’t real, Dean’s not even in town.”

“I saw…Allison,” The teenager muttered morosely. “She was at the top of the stairs, making out with the kanima. Not Jackson—it was the kanima form.”

“That kanima,” Bobby inquired, gesturing to the sidewalk across the street where the kanima stood at the feet of an angry young man. “Do you know who that is?”

“He’s the kid who fell in the pool,” Sam said, as if the kid’s soaking clothes weren’t a dead giveaway. “He was upset, said he was gonna kill everybody.”

“That’s Matt Daehler,” Scott put a name to the face. “He’s a photographer for the yearbook and school newspaper. He was Allison’s date to the rave.”

“From the looks of things, he’s also the kanima’s master.”

* * *

 

Stiles and Juice were back on the road before dawn, only needing a bare minimum of three hours sleep to recharge. By mid-morning, they were in Erie, Pennsylvania, checked into a new motel that would serve as their base of operations for the duration of the hunt.

“All right, so do we want to talk to the cops first or interview the surviving victim?” Stiles asked, settling into a chair at the table. “I’d suggest splitting up, but that never ends well.”

“Yeah, we should probably stick together,” Juice agreed, carefully taking his laptop from its case. “No matter what we do, we’re going to need identification. No one is going to talk to civilians about this stuff. Did Sam or Dean ever make you fake credentials or anything?”

“No. I’m guessing they never made you any either,” For reasons that boiled down to age on Stiles part, and hairstyle and body art on Juice’s. “You realize we are the two people least likely to pass for feds, right?”

“Yeah,” Juice pulled down the sleeves of his hoodie to cover the tats on his forearms. “So?”

“We go in there flashing FBI credentials, the only place we’ll end up is in jail.” Stiles would very much like to avoid that scenario if at all possible.

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” It was really something they should have discussed in the car. “Preferably something that doesn’t involve me calling my dad for bail money.”

“How about this, instead of talking to cops or witnesses, we just use what we have?” Juice suggested as he booted up his computer. “I’ll hack the local PD’s system, see what I can find in the case files. And Sam let you borrow John Winchester’s journal, right?”

“Yeah. Yes, I have that,” He picked the journal up off the table, holding it up for Juice to see. “He hunted Doc Benton, he’ll have documented it.”

“Exactly,” Juice nodded, typing away on his laptop. “You know, it’s probably a good thing we’re not going the fake-fed route. I didn’t bring a suit.”

“Me neither,” Stiles admitted, flipping through the pages of the journal. “But the Winchesters don’t always wear suits on a case.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t have tattoos or mohawks to cover-up,” Juice smoothed a hand over the tribal tats on his scalp. “A suit wouldn’t hide the bruising on your neck either.”

“True, true.” And he was fresh out of turtlenecks. “Hoodies and baseball caps probably aren’t FBI regulation.”

“Probably not, no,” Juice chuckled, fingers moving deftly over the keyboard of his laptop. “All right, I’m in.”

“See anything we didn’t already know?”

“Let’s see, uh, silk sutures, surgical incisions,” Juice clucked his tongue as he scavenged through the information. “Oh, here we go. I found the statement from the survivor who lost a kidney. He was jumped while feeding a parking meter, woke up strapped to a table, blacked out from the pain, and woke up screaming in a bathtub full of ice in a motel room.”

“Scary,” It didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know, but it did highlight something interesting about the doctor. “You know, Benton could have let that guy bleed out after taking his kidney, but he didn’t. He only takes the parts he needs, it’s just sometimes those parts aren’t the ones the victim can live without.”

“He doesn’t kill unnecessarily.” Juice noted. “He still killing some people, though, and mutilating others.”

“I know, I know,” He wasn’t trying to condone what the guy did. “Maybe, though, it means we can negotiate with him or something. Get him to spill his secrets with us in exchange for us not killing him.”

“We don’t know if we can kill him,” Juice pointed out. “Didn’t J.W. try?”

“He cut out Benton’s heart,” Unfortunately, death didn’t take. “We’ll find a way to neutralize him—after he tells us how he became immortal.”

“Hopefully before he has a chance to scrap us out for spare parts,” Juice remarked dryly. “That journal give you anything?”

“It say’s Benton is picky about where he sets up his lab. He digs dense forests close to some kind of fresh body of water,” Stiles summarized J.W.’s research. “That’s where he likes to dump the bile, intestines, and fecal matter.”

“Thank you for the imagery,” Juice grimaced, suppressing the urge to puke. “I’ll pull up some satellite maps of the area, see what I can find.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

When the kanima and its master disappeared from the party, Bobby and Sam had chased them until they lost them, and then returned to the subway car to update Derek. The moon was down, the sun up, yet the betas were still restrained, and Derek was nowhere to be found. Isaac had revealed he caught the Martin girl’s scent just after Derek had stepped out for a breather he never returned from.

Bobby left Sam to free the betas and get them home safely, while he set off to find his missing son. He rounded back to the Martin house first, but was unable to spot Lydia in the swarm of teenagers being cleared out by the cops. Deciding, perhaps, Derek hadn’t been taken, but instead went out for an ill-timed run, Bobby headed toward the woods next.

He was stalled at a stop-sign near the preserve turn off when his phone buzzed on the seat next to him. The screen notified him of two new messages, neither holding good news.

 **NEW TEXT MESSAGE (1) : UNKNOWN NUMBER:** ‘Victoria Argent is dead. Stabbed herself through the heart last night.’

 **NEW TEXT MESSAGE (2) : ALAN DEATON:** ‘You’ll find your son at his family home. He’s in bad shape.’

He dropped the phone back on the seat and gunned the car engine, fear racketing up his spine. He pushed the Chevelle past her limits, booking it double-time through the woods, taking every shortcut he knew to get to the Hale house. The brakes of the old car squealed when he skidded to a stop in the dirt driveway beside the animal clinic van.

He rushed into the house, sagging in relief when finally laid eyes on his son. The kid was on the floor, knees drawn to his chest, looking a little worse for wear, eyes sunken in, skin pale and wan, but still very much alive.

“What the hell happened?” He crouched in front of his son, inspecting him for visible injuries, thankfully finding none. “Isaac said that Lydia girl showed up and then you disappeared.”

“She did. She was there. She brought me here.” Derek confirmed, licking his lips as if parched. “At the subway, she blew some kind of purple powder in my face. It knocked me out.”

“I’d say it was probably powdered wolfsbane,” Deaton deduced, stepping in from what was left of the hallway. “She needed you unconscious to get you here. You wouldn’t come willingly.”

“Why did she need him at all?” Bobby questioned the vet, who always knew far more than he let on. “What did she do?”

“She used me to bring back Uncle Peter,” Derek glanced down at the hole in the floor, where Bobby had laid Peter’s body to rest after his reign of terror as the alpha came to an end. “I don’t know how she did it or why, but she did.”

 “Although Ms. Martin did not turn from Peter’s bite, I suspect she wasn’t entirely immune. He retained a certain control over her, even after death. The ‘episodes’ she’s been having were Peter exercising the control, working up to this,” Deaton gestured to the large mirrors set up conspicuously over the flooring of the house. “She harnessed Derek’s alpha power, as well as the power of the full moon, to return Peter to the land of the living.”

“Lovely,” That was just what they needed on top of everything else. “And where are Peter and Lydia now?”

“Peter was gone when I arrived,” Deaton replied. “I sent Lydia home. She was quite frightened.”

“Well, who the hell wouldn’t be?” A little mind control and reanimation of the dead was enough to send anyone screaming to the nuthouse. “And, uh, just how did you know to be here, Alan? Did Derek call you?”

“No, I didn’t.” Derek denied the claim. “He’s the one who woke me up…with a dog whistle.”

“Helping your family used to be a pretty important part of my life, Derek. Helping you was a promise I made to Talia.” Deaton said somberly. “I’m just trying to keep that promise.”

“You’re the one my sister talked about,” Derek gazed up at the vet with a guarded expression. “She said you were some kind of advisor.”

“He’s an advisor with a druid twist.” Bobby cleared up Deaton’s role for his son. “He was your pack’s emissary.”

“I do have some advice you need to listen to very closely right now,” Deaton declared, lips set in a grim line. “What Peter managed to do doesn’t come without a price. He’ll be physically weak, so he’ll rely on his intelligence, his cunning. He’s going to come at you, Derek. He’ll try to twist his way inside your head, preying on your insecurities. He’ll tell you he’s the only way to stop Gerard. Do not trust him.”

“Oh, we ain’t gonna trust him, but we’re not trusting you either, Doc. You’ve always had a bit of a bias where Peter was concerned,” Bobby recalled how it drove Talia nuts when she’d send Peter to speak with Deaton on her behalf, and Deaton would shut him out. “Peter always called you out for holding things back, keeping important information from Talia. The druid part of you has to maintain the balance of things, good and evil and such, even at the expense of the pack you swore your allegiance to.”

“Peter was always rather…paranoid,” Deaton brushed off accusations of his disloyalty. “Always afraid outside forces would come in and wipe out the pack.”

“They did,” The house they currently stood in was proof of that. “You know, refusing to tell us how you knew to come here this morning just proves Peter was always right about you.”

“Derek,” Deaton addressed the alpha, giving the hunter the cold shoulder. “If you want to defeat Gerard, you cannot trust Peter. And, unfortunately, the one person you should trust, doesn’t trust you at all.”

“You’re talking about Scott,” Derek scoffed, climbing to his feet. “Not long ago, someone told me Scott should _never_ be trusted, that he will always choose his enemy over his ally.”

* * *

 

Dean learned three things while standing outside Rufus Turner’s house, trying to convince the retired hunter to let him in. One, the guy was big on security, he had a camera and an intercom system at the front porch. Two, Rufus wasn’t too keen on visitors, there was a handwritten sign attached to the door that read: _‘No solicitors, that means you! No asking for donations. No selling ANYTHING!’_ And, three, the bottle of _Johnnie Walker Blue_ Bobby had told him to bring was actually his entrance fee.

Once inside the house, there were an entirely new set of things to learn. For instance, the photos on the mantle were not to be touched. Dean had noticed a picture he could have sworn was pre-teen Juice playing soccer, he’d picked it up to get a better look, and Rufus smacked it out of his hands with a few cautionary words, “ _Don’t touch what’s not yours_.” The hunter then heavily admonished Dean for tracking dirt into his house, but refrained from making him take off his shoes, seeing as the damage was already done.

By the time they actually sat down in the kitchen to talk, Dean was feeling a little haggard. Rufus must have picked up on that, because he set two tumblers on the table and uncapped the Johnnie Walker.

“Have a drink,” The old man insisted, pouring them each a glass. “I don’t even bother drinking unless it’s this stuff. Nectar of the Gods, I’m telling you.”

“Yeah, most of my whiskey comes from a plastic jug. This is a nice change. Bottoms up,” Dean took a long swig of the liquor, relishing in how smoothly it went down. “So, Bela was here because….”

“She wanted to buy a couple of things, which are gonna take me some time to round up,” Rufus responded, scrutinizing Dean with a watchful eye. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You got, what, two, three days left,” Rufus determined. “Why are you wasting your time chasing after that skinny, stuck-up English girl?”

“How do you know about that?” Dean had put a lot of effort into _not_ announcing his demon deal to the entire hunting community.

“Because, I know things. I know a lot of things about a lot of people,” The old man drawled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “I know ain’t no peashooter gonna save you.”

“Is that so?” Dean couldn’t believe that, it was his last hope for survival. “What makes you so sure?”

“’Cause that’s the job, kid. Even if you manage to scrape out of this one, there’s just gonna be something else down the road. If you’re lucky, the job will take you before it takes everyone you love from you.” Grief passed over the man’s face before it was replaced by a rueful smile. “Folks like us…there ain’t no happy ending. We all got it coming. I’m what you’ve got to look forward to if you survive. But you won’t.”

“Well, ain’t you a bucket of sunshine.” Dean huffed, taking another swig of his drink. “So, Bela….”

“Hotel Canaan. Room 39.” Rufus gave up the information freely, no hoops to jump through. “Watch your back. There are things you don’t know about her.”

“Oh, and you do?” Oh, right, Dean almost forgot, Rufus _knew things_. “Let me guess, you lifted her fingerprint and got Jack.”

“She burnt them off, probably years ago,” Rufus acknowledged, sipping his scotch. “Did you do her ear?”

“Sorry?” Dean would try anything once, but that just sounded uncomfortable. “Did you say her ear?”

“Ears are as unique to humans as fingerprints,” Rufus explained, a sly grin spread across his lips. “Of course, they don’t fly in the courts here, but in England, they’re all over it.”

“No kidding.”

“All I had to do was send a friend of a friend one clean shot off the security camera. They faxed me ten pages of confidential files within a day,” Rufus relinquished the folder containing the private documents to Dean. “The so-called Bela Talbot.”

“Great. Thanks.” He’d only come for Bela’s location, but Dean would accept anything Rufus had to offer, and perhaps more since he was feeling lucky. “Hey, um, I’m not trying to press my luck here, but uh, Juice—I mean, Juan Carlos, is a friend. Why do you have pictures of him?”

“Mind your own damn business, that’s why,” Rufus retorted with a withering scowl, slamming his glass on the table, sloshing liquid all over the place. “Now get the hell out of my house.”

“Y-Yeah, of course. Yes, sir. I’m gone,” He jumped out of the chair, nearly dropping the file as he scrambled to do as the man had demanded. “Sorry, man. Thanks for the Bela info.”

“Wait! Wait just a minute, please,” Rufus requested, features softening. “If you…if you see, Juan Carlos before your ticket’s punched, tell him to call his mama. She worries.”

“Uh, yeah, okay. I’ll tell him.”

* * *

 

The satellite maps Juice accessed led them to a remote stretch of woods just inside the Erie city limits. They’d set off at nightfall to find Benton’s hideaway among the dying trees, hoping the darkness would give them an element of surprise.

“Take the next left,” Stiles navigated them through the unfamiliar forest. “GPS on my phone says it should be a straight shot from there.”

“It’ll be the only cabin out this far,” Juice reported, taking the aforementioned turn. “Fingers crossed it’s the right one.”

“Yeah, fingers crossed,” Stiles seconded as his phone pinged with a message. “Oh, hey, good news. Sam and Bobby know who the kanima’s master is, some kid named Matt Daehler.”

“It’s not one of the Argents?”

“I know, right?” Stiles snorted. “I had my money on them too.”

“Hey, there’s the cabin,” Juice steered the truck around to face the way they came, parking off the side of the road. “We’ll walk it from here. Don’t want to let Benton know we’re here by pulling up to the house.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Stiles agreed, taking two flashlights off the seat and passing one off to Juice. “Guns holstered, knives strapped to ankles, flashlights in hand. Let’s do this.”

The cabin and the property it sat on seemed to have abandon and left the elements. The lawn was nothing but dead grass and dirt, along with various household items strewn about, dumped out there to rot and become part of the environment around it. The exterior of the cabin was something out of a horror movie, dark and decrepit, falling apart one termite infested wood panel at a time.

They found interior in relatively the same shape when they slipped in quietly through the front door. An ungodly amount of dust coated every inch of the place from what Juice could see. Spider webs had taken up every corner, nook, and cranny, while other creepy crawlers had made the tattered couch their home. The level of grime and filth made Juice’s stomach roll with nausea.

“Uh, you clear this floor, I’ll take the basement,” Juice divided the house, needing to get it cleared like yesterday, so he could get the fuck out of there. “If either of us finds Benton, we’ll scream, and the other will come in with guns blazing.”

“Blazing guns that will do nothing but piss Benton off,” Stiles muttered, sweeping that flashlight over a table in the corner. “We’re smart guys, we’ll think of something.”

“Yeah, we will.”

He left Stiles to his search and moved down the stairs to the cellar, coming upon Benton’s _occupied_ makeshift operating room. There was a man lying on what looked to be an antique gurney, a blood soaked sheet covering him. Juice was sure the guy was just a fresh corpse, but to be thorough, he pressed two fingers to the man’s throat, confirming there was no pulse.

A noise from the other side of the basement drew Juice away from the deceased and through a ragged plastic curtain to another operating room, with another gurney, and another body. This time, it was a woman strapped down with her right arm stretched out beside her, and maggots covering a patch of missing skin just above her wrist. Just as he’d done with the man, Juice placed his fingers on her neck to check her pulse, and to his shock, the woman’s eyes sprung open at the contact.

“Holy shit!” He startled, stumbling backward and crashing into a shelf, knocking a collection of glass jars to the floor, shattering them. “Fuck.”

“Juice!” Stiles yelled for him as he thundered down the stairs, gun drawn. “Where is he?”

“No, no! He’s not here. It was her,” He nodded to the panic-stricken woman. “I thought she was dead, then she opened her eyes. Scared the shit out of me.”

“Well, I’m sure she’s more scared of you than you are of her.” Stiles commented, holstering his weapon and taking a few cautionary steps toward the gurney to speak softly with the woman. “Hi. Uh, I know you’re freaked, but we’re here to help, okay? We’re gonna help you, but you have to remain very calm and very quiet, in case the bad man comes back.”

“I thought the plan was to talk to the guy, if we got the chance,” Juice remarked as he worked the straps on the gurney to free the woman. “About, you know, Dean.”

“I’ve got his journal,” Stiles patted the book-shaped lump in his pocket. “With any luck, it’ll tell us what we want to know. If it can’t, we’ll trade it to Benton for the information we want or something. Right now, we just need to worry about getting the hell out of here.”

“Her arm, Stiles. We need, uh,” Juice grabbed the closest thing he could find, a dirty rag, and tied it around the woman’s injury like a tourniquet. “That should do until we get to the hospital.”

The creek of rusty door hinges upstairs put Juice and Stiles on high alert. The heavy plod of footsteps on floorboards triggered the traumatized woman, causing her to sob uncontrollably.

“No, no, no. Sssh,” Stiles hushed her, gently cupping a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’ve got every right to cry, scream, and curse, but you just can’t right now.”

While Stiles comforted the woman, Juice looked for an escape route that did not require them to go back upstairs and have an altercation with Benton. With no other options, he settled for a window just big enough for them to squeeze through.

“Window, come on,” He ushered them over as he pride it open. “Let’s go. Stiles, you first.”

Stiles shimmied through the narrow opening with ease, then reached back to help the woman up. Juice gave her an added boost, pushing her up, out, and into Stiles waiting arms, before he hoisted himself out.

“We gotta go now.”

They hightailed it the fuck out of there, running like hell down the dirt road to the truck. Stiles all but shoved the woman into the middle seat in his own haste to be in the safe confines of the vehicle, while Juice wound up in the driver seat, again, fumbling with the keys.

“Now is not the time to buckle under pressure, baby,” Stiles chided as he leant around the woman between them to fasten her seatbelt. “Hurry it up. Come on.”

“I got it, I got it, I got it,” He exclaimed, successfully slipping the key into the ignition and turning it over, revving the engine. “Did you just call me _baby_?”

“Must you always call me out for shit like that? I know, it didn’t sound right coming out of my mouth. Let’s move on.” Stiles growled, latching on to the ‘oh shit’ bar as the truck barreled down the path, nearly smacking into a figure standing in the road.

“Fuck!” Juice slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the man with white hair and a stitched together face, the infamous Doc Benton, he presumed. “I’ll just swerve around him, there’s enough room.”

“Run him over,” Stiles ordered, feeling the doctor’s frightened victim tremble against him, her face hidden in the crook of his neck. “Do it.”

“No, w-we need him.” They couldn’t be sure the journal held the key to Benton’s immortality, they couldn’t put him down until they were sure they had a way to help Dean. “We need him alive.”

“He can’t die, remember?” Stiles barked, slamming his fist against the dashboard in frustration. “Run him the fuck over!”

Juice put the truck in reverse, backing up several yards before gunning it forward. Benton didn’t jump out of the way to voice being hit, just let the truck mow him down and crunch his bones beneath the tires.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles exhaled loudly, relaxing into his seat as they continued down the road unhindered. “We’re clear.”

“Yep,” Juice nodded, glancing in the side mirror to witness Benton pick himself off the ground, his head cocked at an unnatural angle. “Is that really the way you think Dean’s going to want to live out his life? Like that thing?”

“Dean would never let himself become that. I didn’t take this hunt because I thought it would be the miracle we needed to save him,” Stiles confessed, letting his head loll against the window. “I did it for Sam. He needs to know he did everything he could save his brother.”

* * *

 

He should still be on the road, on his way to Charming or Beacon Hills to deliver bad news. He had no choice now, he had to tell Jax about his impending death, just as he had to tell Sam there was no way to prevent it, because the Colt was really gone this time. He had to tell them, he knew he did, he should have a long time ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Instead, he sat alone in the Impala, on a deserted stretch of highway hours outside Canaan, and drank cheap booze from a flask. He was just about to get to the portion of the evening where he drowned his sorrows and contemplated his mortality when his phone snapped him back to reality.

“Yeah?”

 _“Did you find the Colt?”_ Stiles skipped over all pleasantries, as usual, jumping straight to the point. _“Did she still have it?”_

“No. Bitch sold it.” There was no way to find the buyer and get both the gun and the demon who held his contract in such a short amount of time. “I searched her, her room, just in case she was lying…but it was gone. It’s gone.”

_“Should I ask what you did to her?”_

“Nothing. I did nothing.” He wanted to kill her, but he didn’t have it in him. Bela had been right when she said he wasn’t cold-blooded. “She sealed her own fate, I think. Made a deal of her own at some point. She had Devil’s shoestring over the door in her room, so I’d guess her times just about up.”

_“Does that count as karma or….”_

“I don’t know,” The only thing Dean knew for sure was that he was just as fucked as she was. “Bela was a goose chase. The Colt’s gone, and this time I’m really screwed.”

 _“Actually, this Doc Benton guy could be a potential, last resort, solution_ ,” Stiles said indifferently. _“Juice and I found his cabin.”_

“Are you guys okay? Was he there? Did you kill him?”

_“Yes, we’re okay. Yes, he was there. No, we didn’t kill him.”_

“No?” What the hell kind of bullshit answer was that? “Why the hell didn’t you kill him?”

 _“Well, for one, there was a victim who needed medical attention,”_ Stiles was quick to defend his and Juice’s actions – or lack thereof. _“For two, Sam sent us out here specifically to find the trick to Benton’s immortality, so we could use it on you. Did you not know that?”_

“No, Stiles, I didn’t fucking know that,” Until he’d spoken to Jax, he hadn’t even known Sam had sent _kids_ to handle a case even their dad had screwed the pooch on. “Look, just stay away from Benton’s place. Okay? I’ll—“

 _“Chill, Dean. We don’t need to go back for anything but to put him down,”_ Stiles assured him. _“I swiped his journal while we were there—actually, it’s a lab book. It has the formula in it.”_

“A live-forever formula?” How convenient it was for Benton to have written it down. “Great. Let me guess, I have to drink blood out of a baby’s skull.”

 _“What? Ew. Dude, no. Just no.”_ Stiles gagged. _“It’s not black magic or blood sacrifices. It’s just science. Weird science.”_

“ _’Weird Science’_ , huh?” He could be down for that, he loved that movie. “You mean, we’re gonna use a computer to create our very own Kelly LeBrock?”

_“Dean.”_

“Sorry, sorry,” Now was not the time to get sidetracked by a smokin’ hot fantasy from his youth. “So, what’re you trying to tell me? You think this formula could save me?”

 _“Yeah, yeah. I mean, I have concerns,”_ The kid admitted. _“But, hypothetically, yeah.”_

“What concerns?”

 _“Well, how you would sustain life is sketchy an—Oh, my go—“_ The distinct sound of a phone clattering to the floor wand ensuing struggle echoed over the line.

“Stiles?” Dean pulled the phone away from his ear as the call cut off abruptly. “Oh, shit.”

* * *

 

With the Argents looking for blood, Derek, Bobby, and Sam decided the safest place for the pack would be the old house. They were banking the idea that the Argents wouldn’t think Derek was reckless enough to hide out there given how many times they’d attacked it previously. The only one who seemed to take issue with laying low was the betas.

The teenagers didn’t appreciate being rounded up and forced into what remained of the Hale house – no matter the reason why. There was no running water, no food, electricity or wifi – all things entitled children needed to survive. After listening to them whine over the circumstances for several hours, Derek eventually had enough and let them go out for a run, under the condition they stayed within shouting distance.

As a result of the betas restlessness, they were absent when Peter returned, strutting in like it was still his home, Scott trailing behind him like a disgruntled puppy. The fact that nobody made a move to shoot Peter or claw out his throat was a testament to just how many fucks they had left to give. Of course, not everyone was ready to move past the shocked, awed, and pissed stage.

“You could have told me he was alive,” Scott spit at Derek, accusation lathering his tone. “Someone should have told me.”

“Recent development,” Derek hadn’t exactly had time to update everyone via the _Werewolves of Beacon Hills Newsletter_. “You want to bitch someone out about it, talk to your friend Lydia, she’s the one who did it.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve made a miraculous recovery from death. And I know how happy you all are to have me back,” Peter grinned wryly, clapping his hands together. “I would love to tell you all about it, but we have far more important things to discuss, such as what happened to the sheriff’s station.”

“It blew up weeks ago,” Sam informed the wolf, shrugging at the old news. “You were dead, you missed it.”

“No, dear boy, I’m talking about what happened _tonight_ ,” Peter clarified, patting the hunter on the head condescendingly. “However, an explosion does shed light on why the station was an assembly of trailers, not a building.”

“Matt and the kanima attacked the station,” Scott reported, adding yet another supernatural shit show to the sheriff’s departments tally. “They massacred everyone on duty.”

“The kid must’ve gotten desperate when he realized he’d been made as the kanima’s master,” Bobby speculated, shaking his head. “Probably wanted to find and destroy any evidence the cops had on the kanima’s murders, so they couldn’t connect him to it. He didn’t care who he killed to get it.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about putting the kid down, Gerard did it for you,” Peter divulged, eyes flashing blue at the Argent patriarch’s name. “When Chris and Allison lobbed their own attack on the station, Matt fled. Gerard caught him by the stream behind the impound lot, overpowered him, then drowned him.”

“Why were they even there?”

“Well, nephew, they assumed you were tracking the kanima, so they’ve been tracking it to find you,” Peter explained, picking at the charred paint on the wall as if he were bored by it all. “They planned to capture you if and when you showed yourself.”

“And you know all this because….” Bobby raised a brow, curious as to how Peter knew so much.

“Oh, I was tracking the Argents, waiting for the perfect moment to kill Gerard,” Peter answered honestly, a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes. “Of course, I’ll have to put them all down now, seeing as they believe they have a justifiable reason to kill my nephew. Biting Victoria Argent, tsk tsk, Derek.”

“I didn’t bite her,” Derek was starting to wish he had since he was going to be hunted for it anyway. “How did you end up with Scott?”

“Oh, we ran into each other near the station,” Peter stared down his nose at his former beta. “Perhaps you should ask Scott what he was doing there.”

“Why were you there, Scott?” Derek questioned the young wolf, pinning him with a suspicious gaze. “Were you tracking the kanima too?”

“Oh, he didn’t track anyone,” Peter interjected, not allowing the teenager to get a single word in edgewise. “He was invited to the invasion by Gerard, who was very upset that Scott hadn’t brought you along, as he’d requested.”

“I would have if I’d know you bit Allison’s mom,” Scott sneered at the alpha. “Why would you do that? You know what they’ll do to you—“

“I didn’t,” Not that Derek was naïve enough to think Scott would actually believe him. “If I had, it would have been to save you.”

“I didn’t want to be saved like that!” Scott shouted, kicking a stack of burnt wood piled on the floor. “I didn’t want anyone to die or to become…this.”

“I. Did. Not. Bite. Her.” He had a feeling he’d be repeating that to deaf ears for the rest of his natural born life. “Do you want to tell me why Gerard would be _requesting_ anything from you?”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” Scott snarled, turning on his heels and starting out the door, but not before delivering one last parting shot. “You’re not my alpha.”

“There’s something else,” Peter proclaimed, waiting until Scott was out of hearing range to continue. “When Gerard killed the kanima’s master, he became its new master.”

“Great.”

* * *

 

When Stiles regained consciousness, he was back in Benton’s basement, strapped down, unable to move. There were thick leather bands were fastened around his arms, ankles, and torso, all pinning him to a table. The only thing that kept him from panicking was the feel of Juice beside him.

They were crammed together, touching from shoulder to hip on a set of operating tables pushed together. Benton must have thought he could keep a better eye on them that way.

“Juice? H-Hey, Juice,” Stiles used what little wiggle room he had to feel for the other man’s hand. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” Juice mumbled sluggishly. “I feel dead.”

“Side effect of whatever he knocked us out with back at the motel,” He couldn’t believe they’d let the creepy doctor get the drop on them. “You know, one of us getting snatched up by this asshole wouldn’t be so bad. Sam and Dean get kidnapped all the time. But both of us….”

“I know, I know,” Juice sighed, lacing their fingers together. “If we make it out of this alive, no one—especially the Winchesters—can find out about this.”

“Agreed,” If anyone found out, they would be subjected to endless ridicule. “So, uh, you think you can ‘nice’ us out of this one like you did with the Morton Mansion ghosty?”

“Uh, no. I don’t think that’s gonna work this time,” Juice said, tensing when Benton stepped through the ripped curtain. “That ghost was lonely, just wanted a friend. The doc here is just falling apart at the seams…literally.”

Benton said nothing as he took a roll of medical tape out of a drawer and made his way to the table. He bent over Juice and used his thumbs to peel back his eyelids, placing strips of tape over them.

“Don’t—“ Juice jerked violently as the doctor forced his eyes to remain open. ”What’re you gonna do?”

“Hey, hey!” Stiles yelled, thrashing around as much he could to try to pull the doc’s attention away from Juice. “Leave him alone!”

“You can both relax. It’s all gonna be okay,” Benton hummed soothingly, picking up a precarious looking scooper from his instrument tray. “Ain’t nothing gonna happen here that you got to worry about. The chances of coming out of this alive? Very, very high.”

“Alive but not whole,” Juice took a shaky breath, coming to a conclusion about what Benton wanted him for. “Jesus. Fuck. You’re gonna take my eyes.”

“You think I’m some kind of monster, don’t you? Well, I got to tell you, I have never done one thing that I did not have to do,” Benton claimed, tapping the scoop lightly against Juice’s cheek. “This whole eternal-life thing is high-maintenance. If something goes bad, like my eyes here…you got to replace them.”

“Then take mine,” Stiles volunteered, deciding it would be easier for him to learn Braille than it would be for Juice to give up the club—if he didn’t ride, he didn’t vote, and he couldn’t very well ride without his eyes. “He’s a computer genius and biker, okay. I’m just the nerdy, researching sidekick. I can do my thing without my sight.”

“Shut up, Stiles!” Juice snapped harshly. “If the choice is between my eyes or yours, he can have mine.”

“Don’t worry, Stiles, you’ll have your turn. I may not need your eyes, but I do have plans for other parts of you,” Benton commented ominously. “Now, let’s get started.”

Juice squeezed Stiles hand tightly in fear and anticipation of pain as Benton brought the scoop dangerously close to his left eye. Stiles squeezed back just as fiercely, trying to bring his friend some kind of comfort.

“Close your eyes,” Juice instructed, breaths coming out in pants. “Close your eyes, Stiles. Don’t watch.”

For Juice’s sake, Stiles did as he was told, clenching his eyes shut. He expected to hear the squelch of eyes being scooped from sockets followed by Juice’s cries of agony, but instead heard three shots ring out in quick succession. He opened his eyes to see Juice still in possession of both eyes, Benton stumbling on his feet, and Dean at the end of the table, gun aimed at the doctor.

“Shoot all you want,” Benton goaded the hunter, a sick grin on his mangled face. “Go ahead.”

Benton strolled toward Dean, arms spread wide to welcome whatever the hunter had for him. Dean fired two shots into the doctor’s chest, but he just kept coming, unbothered by the bullets piercing his skin. He strode right to Dean, knocking the gun from his hands and tossing him into a tall shelf of medical equipment.

“You would be Dean Winchester, wouldn’t you? Yes, your photo was in the journal I took from the boys’ motel room,” Benton waved a dismissive hand in Stiles and Juice’s direction as he approached Dean, leaning over him. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed reading all about myself in your father’s little book. Kind of makes this whole thing feel like some sort of family reunion.”

“Too bad my dad’s not here to carve out your heart again,” Dean retorted, pulling a knife from his jacket and plunging it into Benton’s chest. “This’ll have to do.”

“A knife?” Benton cackled, yanking the blade out. “What part of _immortality_ do you not understand?”

“Do you know what kanima venom is?” Dean asked the doctor, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s a paralytic toxin. A friend of mine collected some from a crime scene, it’s been sitting in a jar in my trunk ever since. I dipped that knife in it.”

“A paralytic?” Benton gasped as the venom coursed through his body and he collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap. “Oh….oh….”

Dean laughed out loud at the doc’s misfortune as he climbed to his feet and stepped over the man’s body to get to the operating tables.

“You two okay?” He questioned, cutting through the leather restraints and helping the boys stand. “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it in time.”

“You almost didn’t,” Juice murmured, ripping the tape off his eyelids like band-aids. “Ow. Fuck. Ow.”

“Yeah, good timing, Dean,” Stiles gave him a two thumbs up for not letting them get killed or mutilated. “We don’t know how long the kanima venom is gonna last, so if we’re going to get Benton to help you, we gotta do it now.”

“He can’t help me. Look at him,” Dean winced at the state of Benton, how his skin had to be stitched and stapled just to hang off his bones. “I can’t be like that. I can’t kill people for parts. That’s not living. That’s not _me_.”

“I know it’s not,” Still, it was a hard pill for Stiles to swallow, because it meant they were out of option and out of time. “I knew— _we_ knew you’d rather go to hell than become that, but it had to be your choice.”

“Well, I’ve made my choice,” Dean declared, glaring at the monster who had spent over 150yrs years murdering poor bastards so he could live. “We kill him.”

“That might be a little tricky with the immortality thing,” Juice pointed out, scratching his head. “We could…cut him up into little pieces…I guess.”

“Ooh, good idea,” Dean clapped the other man on the back, fully approving of the plan. “Cut him into bits and bury him around the property.”

“Or we could just cut off his head,” Stiles suggested, finding a hatchet hanging from a hook on the wall. “Yeah, I like my plan better, it’s not as time consuming.”

Stiles took the hatchet for himself before one of the others could steal it and do the deed themselves. He used a foot to roll the doctor onto his back, and lifted the hatchet up high, swinging it down on Benton’s neck with as much force as he could muster. He repeated the process again and again until the head was completely detached from the body.

“All right, there we go. Done.” It was not the kind of work Stiles would take pride in, but the monster was dead, so the job was done—nearly done. “We should probably bury the body and head separately to be safe. Or burn it. Yeah, burning it all to ash might be better. I’ll get the salt and gasoline.”

“Is he okay?” Dean asked Juice, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I mean, is he _okay_?”

“Y-Yeah, no, uh, he’s, uh…..” Juice struggled to find the correct word choice. “Being restrained might’ve brought up some old stuff. Um, so he’s, uh, he’s just working through that, I think.”

“…Okay.”

* * *

 

Jax’s son seemed bigger every time he saw him, but still so small and delicate when cradled in his arms. He sometimes worried the baby would break if held too tight.

“How you doing, little man?” Jax smiled softly at his son as he rocked him in the chair. “You look good, strong.”

Everyone had told Jax to hold onto that, Abel’s strength. If he believed his boy was strong, he would be, and everything would okay. As it turned out, everyone was right.

“Almost time to come home, kiddo,” The doctor and nurses had been hinting at it for weeks. “Grandma’s got a big party planned for you, she just waiting for the day to throw it. The whole family will be there. All your uncles, your aunties, Dean….”

Things with Dean were complicated. As much as Jax wanted to blame Dean for all of it, he knew he was at fault too. His push for answers had ultimately pushed Dean away. If things were ever going to okay between them, he would have to take responsibility for his part in what went wrong, and he fully intended to when Dean got home that night and they finally had things out.

“I’ll fix things with Dean,” Jax promised his son, holding him close. “Before you come home, I’ll fix it.”

“Mr. Teller,” Abel’s physician, Dr. Namid, knocked briefly on the door as he stepped into the nursery. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s okay,” At least he hoped it was. The doctor usually didn’t seek him out to offer updates, it was the other way around. “Is everything okay? Abel—“

“Abel is healthy enough to be released soon,” The doctor grinned, pleased by the infants progress. “How does tomorrow morning sound?”

“Perfect,” It was amazing, terrifying, and a long time coming. “It sounds perfect.”

* * *

 

Derek had tried to keep things together at the house after learning the Argents now had control of a weapon that had bested them all at one time or another, the kanima. It was a definite victory for the hunters and a debilitating loss for the wolves. The defeat was felt heavily within the pack, making them question what was more important, loyalty to the group or personal survival. Naturally, survival won out.

Isaac was the first to go. The young beta had snuck out the back when he’d thought no one was looking. He was the first bitten into the pack and the first to abandon it.

Derek was in the foyer with his father when Erica and Boyd came to speak with him. He admired the fact that they came together, it was an impressive show of both force and solidarity.

“So, you’ve decided,” Derek didn’t need it to be spelled out for him, he’d been waiting all day for them to come have this talk with him. “When are you leaving?”

“Tonight,” Boyd didn’t try to deny it, just said what needed to be said. “There’s a lacrosse game. Jackson’s playing, so the Argents will be there in case he shifts into the kanima form mid-game. We figured it’d be the best time.”

“It’s not like we want to go,” Ah, so Erica would be the one plying him with platitudes and excuses this evening.

“What do you want?” If it wasn’t really to go, then what was it? “What?”

“I wouldn’t mind getting my license.” Erica was sixteen and wanted normality, the kind that came with completing a teenage rite of passage. “I can’t do that if I’m dead, you know?”

“Well, I told you there was a price,” Maybe he hadn’t described anything quite like what they were facing now, but how the hell could he have predicted all hell breaking loose? “I told you how to survive. You do it as a pack. You’re not a pack without an alpha.”

“You might be okay for awhile, if a hunter don’t pick you off,” Bobby reasoned optimistically, before revealing what would be the couples inevitable demise. “But, eventually, without a proper pack, you’d go feral, like omegas.”

“We know,” Boyd acknowledged. “We think we found another pack.”

“When we were out running, we heard all this howling. It was unbelievable,” Erica’s eyes lit up in astonishment. “There must have been a dozen of them, maybe more.”

“Or maybe just two. You kids ever heard of the Beau Geste effect?” Bobby asked, earning identical blank stares from the teenagers. “If they modulate their howls with a rapid shift in tone, two wolves can sound like twenty.”

“It doesn’t matter, okay?” Erica growled irritably. “There’s another pack out there. There’s gotta be.”

“We lost, Derek. It’s over,” Boyd conceded victory to the Argents. “We’re leaving.”

“No. No, you’re running. And once you start, you don’t stop. You’ll always be running.” It was a harsh reality, one Derek had lived with since the fire. “You will _always_ be running.”

“At least we’ll be alive,” Erica remarked as she took Boyd’s hand in hers and led him out the front door.

“It’s quite a situation you’ve gotten yourself in, Derek,” Peter drawled, sashaying in from what used to be the kitchen. “I mean, I’m out of a commission for a few months, and suddenly there’s lizard people, geriatric psychopaths, and you’re cooking up werewolves out every self-esteem deprived adolescent in town.”

“Can it, Peter,” Bobby warned the wolf. “I mean it.”

“I only want to help. He’s my nephew. The only relative I have left,” Peter placed a hand to Derek’s shoulder in an affectionate manner, much to the alpha’s annoyance. “You know, there’s still a lot I can teach him. If we could just talk….”

“Sure, Uncle Peter,” Derek offered his uncle a fang-filled smile as he grabbed the hand touching him, twisting it until he heard bone snap and the older man whimper in pain. “Let’s talk.”

“Ah hell,” Bobby huffed, moving out of the danger zone. “I’d tell you to knock it off and break it up, but this might be good for both of you.”

“It will certainly be cathartic for him,” Peter agreed before he was launched across the room and thrown through a wall. “Ow.”

* * *

 

The sun was setting when Dean parked the Impala at the curb outside Jax’s place. He wasn’t quite ready to go in yet, and as luck would have it, he didn’t have to. He granted himself a small, short, reprieve to settle some unfinished business with an English tart.

See when Dean had confronted Bela at her hotel in Canaan, she’d taken something from him. It wasn’t anything important, just a receipt from the motel he’d been checked into. Since she left his wallet and keys behind, he assumed she’d pick-pocketed him specifically for the receipt, to find out where he’d been staying, and he could only think of one reason why she would do that.

“ _Dean_ ,” Her voice was timid when she answered the phone, so unlike the confidence he’d become accustomed to. _“Where are you?”_

“Did you really think I was just going to stay there and let you kill me?” He scoffed indignantly. How stupid did she think he was? “I mean, really?”

_“You don’t understand.”_

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I understand perfectly. When I was in your hotel room, I noticed the Devil’s shoestring above the door. Only use for that is to keep hellhounds at bay,” So Dean had taken another look at the information Rufus had provided and found something very interesting. “Your parents were killed ten years ago today. You made a deal with a demon to kill Mommy and Daddy, and now that deals come due, hasn’t it? Is that why you stole the Colt? Trying to wiggle out of your deal, the gun for your soul?”

 _“Yes,”_   Well, obviously the Colt wasn’t as big a bargaining chip as she thought it would be. _“They changed the deal. They wanted me to kill Sam.”_

“Really?” Wow, untrustworthy demons. “Shocker.”

 _“Dean, listen, I need help_ ,” Bela’s breath hitched as she began to cry – crocodile tears, he’d bet. _“I know I don’t deserve it.”_

“You know you, you’re right, you don’t,” And at this point, they were both weeks past help in regards to their respective deals. “But you know what the bitch of bunch is? If you had just come to us sooner and asked for help, we could have taken the Colt and saved you.”

 _“I know, and saved yourself. I know about your deal, Dean. The demon that holds it, holds mine too,”_ Bela sniveled. _“She holds every deal. Her name is Lilith.”_

“Why are you telling me this?” It’s not like it was information either of them could use now. “This can’t help you, Bela, not now. So, why tell me?”

 _“You still have time left,”_ Tonight, tomorrow, that was it. _“Maybe you can still kill the bitch.”_

“With what?” The last time he checked, they were light one demon-killing gun. “You sold the only weapon we had that could do that.”

_“I….”_

“I’ll see you in hell, Bela,” Dean hung up on the woman without another word, banishing her from his mind, and tossing the phone haphazardly into the backseat.

He stared longingly over at Jax's house and reflected on the last few days, how easily hope of survival had been given to him and snatched away so easily. He came to the realization that he could accept being damned, but he couldn’t let hell take him until he told Jax that he was going.

“Fuck.”

His legs felt like lead weights as they carried him up the path to the front door. He was hesitant to twist the knob and just walk in, unsure if he still had the right to enter Jax’s home without permission. Jax took the decision out of his hands when he swung open the door from the other side, and stood in the doorway with a wide grin stretched across his face.

“What’s going on?” The last thing Dean had been expecting was a warm welcome.

“Abel’s coming home,” Jax announced, rocking back and forth on his heels like an over-excited child trying to contain his enthusiasm. “He’s finally coming home.”

“What? Holy shit, Jax,” Dean threw his arms around the other man’s neck. “Oh, man, this is great news. W-When? When is he coming?”

“Tomorrow,” Jax replied, curling his arms around Dean’s waist. “You’ll come with me to pick him up, right?

“Tomorrow….” That was his last day, and now it’d be a perfect one. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jax extracted himself from their embrace and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hey, I’m really happy you’re here, that you came back. I know I’ve been a prick lately, asking you things you’re not ready into answer.”

“You, um, you still want to have it out about all that?”

“Not tonight-- not this week. We will have this out, we will, but it’ll have to wait,” Jax decided, shaking his head. “I don’t want anything to spoil Abel’s homecoming.”

“Neither do I.”

* * *

 

Upon returning to California, Stiles had been forced to make a detour to Charming to drop Juice off, ‘cause Dean’s bitchass wouldn’t make the extra stop to the clubhouse. Once that was done, he had to double-back to the interstate so he could head north to Beacon Hills to check in on things, make sure the town hadn't gone up in flames, that sort of thing. It wasn’t like he didn’t think Sam, Derek, and Bobby could handle things, it was just he didn’t think they could handle things _properly_.

Of course, checking on everyone meant finding them, which was not an easy feat. He’d come up empty at the subway station and the loft, leaving the Hale house as the only probable location – unless they had a new hideout they hadn’t hold him about.

“As often as I play chauffer for those dickbags, I better damn well be left in the loop about any new crash pads.” Stiles muttered to himself, taking the turn off to the preserve.

The bumpy back roads made him seriously regret not picking up his Jeep while in Charming. His dad’s truck was an all-terrain vehicle, but the tires apparently weren’t, the front two blew out after half-a-mile on the preserve roads.

“Okay, what the hell?” One tire blowing out he could accept without explanation, but two? No, dude, there was something fishy about that.

He hopped out of the truck and went around the front to investigate. There was disturbance in the dirt the tires had passed over, something metallic glinting in the moonlight. He kicked the dirt up around it, revealing the long chain of sharp barbs hidden beneath.

“Spike strip,” Well, that couldn’t be good. “Bad. Very, very bad.”

He barely had a moment to register the crunch of leaves behind him before a sweet smelling rag was forced over his mouth. Judging by the way his world began to darken around the edges, he’d say the rag had been soaked in chloroform.

“Dump his phone and get rid of the truck.” Fucking _Argents_. “Mr. Stilinski will be coming with us.”

Stiles was getting real tired of being kidnapped. Whoever was with him when he came to was gonna get a fucking earful about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: [Battlefield for the Wicked](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/171009985144/charming-wayward-sons-verse-battlefield-for-the)


	15. Battlefield for the Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warning: Violence, mentions of past sexual abuse, major (canon-compliant) character deaths.  
> Gif sets: [Battlefield for the Wicked](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/171009985144/charming-wayward-sons-verse-battlefield-for-the), [Stiles + Argent](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/171066105224/charming-wayward-sons-verse-stiles-argent-she), [Power](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/171681436844/charming-wayward-sons-verse-power-the-enhanced), [Winchester Logic](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/171431041129/charming-wayward-sons-verse-winchester), [Goodbye, Jax](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/171591310689/charming-wayward-sons-verse-goodbye-jax-rising), [Dangerously Stupid](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/172828624839/charming-wayward-sons-verse-dangerously-stupid), [Piney & Peter Plotting](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/171118947599/charming-wayward-sons-verse-piney-peter), [Support](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/173157340179/charming-wayward-sons-verse-support-can-we-go), [Sammy](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/171742253449/charming-wayward-sons-verse-sammy-when-he-was)  
> Episodes: [SOA] 1x12 Sleep of Babies, [SPN] 3x16 No Rest for the Wicked, [TW] 2x11 Battlefield & 2x12 Master Plan

The betas were gone, the Argents had control of the kanima, and Derek had no game plan beyond killing the kanima. His father and Sam were both distracted by other things but trying to focus enough to be helpful. His Uncle Peter was the only one who seemed to have a clue as to how to handle things, not that Derek was inclined to take him on his word.

“You haven’t even been back two days,” Derek muttered, reclining in his chair to look up at his uncle. “But somehow you have the solution to a problem we’ve had for months. That’s convenient.”

“You think I’m lying?” Peter scoffed, having the gall to sound hurt. “I told you, I only want to help. I need a pack, an alpha like you. I need you as much as you need me.”

“Why would I want help from a total psycho?”

“You were the one primed and ready to to slash my throat before your father put a bullet in my head.” Peter kept a watchful eye on the older hunter, just in case he thought about doing it again. “But we’re all works in progress, right? So, we need each other. Sometimes when you need help, you turn to people you’d never expect.”

“Well, he’s not wrong. Sometimes you have to trust people you normally wouldn’t.” Sam ceded to Peter’s point, having plenty of personal experience in that area. “We should at least hear him out.”

“Sam, this is not like you trusting Ruby,” Bobby scowled at the younger Winchester. “I’d actually trust Peter over that demon any day.”

“So you both think we should hear him out?” That left Derek out-voted, and he was beginning to wonder when he started letting others influence his decisions. “Fine. What do you know, Peter?”

“You tried to build your pack. You tried to prepare for the worst. You weren’t ready.” Peter sighed, disappointed by his nephew. “Because of it, Gerard is winning. He’s taking his time. He’s toying with Scott. He’s going after your wolves, one-by-one. He’s relishing in his victory.”

“Yeah, Gerard’s getting off on this, we know,” Bobby huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “How about you tell us something we don’t know, sunshine.”

“Oh, I’m going to, and it’s gonna prove why you should trust me,” Peter assured him. “Why you _need_ to trust me. Because I’m going to tell you how to stop Jackson.”

“What do you mean?” Sam sat up straighter in his chair, giving the former alpha his full attention. “You know how to kill him?”

“Actually, how to save him,” Peter clarified. “You see, there’s a myth that you can cure a werewolf simply by calling out its Christian name.”

“It’s just a myth,” Derek grumbled, unimpressed by his uncle. “We’ve read a lot of myths about the kanima lately, none of them were helpful.”

“Sometimes myths and legends bear a hint of truth. Our name is a symbol of who we are,” Peter used a finger to write ‘Hale’ in the dust on the table. “The kanima has no identity, that’s why it doesn’t seek a pack. And who else grows up with no pack? No identity?”

“An orphan,” Sam deduced, the realization dawning on him. “Like Jackson.”

“And right now, his identity is disappearing beneath reptilian skin, and you need to bring him back,” Peter settled his gaze on his nephew to emphasize who he meant exactly. “How, you might ask, well, through his heart. How else?”

“His heart?” Derek snorted. “In case you haven’t noticed, Jackson didn’t really have too much of a heart to begin with.”

“Not true, nephew,” Peter clucked his tongue. “He’d never admit it, but there is one person, one young lady with whom Jackson shared a real bond. One person who can reach him-- who can save him.”

“Lydia,” Sam proclaimed, eyes lighting up. “He still loves-- cares for Lydia. Allison told me as much at Lydia’s party.”

“Never underestimate the simple yet undeniable power of human love,” Peter remarked wistfully. “Even somebody as burned and dead on the inside as me knows that.”

“So, we’ll need both Lydia and Jackson if we want to save Jackson,” Bobby concluded, formulating a plan in his mind. “Boyd said Jackson would be at the lacrosse game tonight.”

“Good chance Lydia will be too,” Sam noted, rising from his chair. “We should go.”

“You and Peter go, keep an eye on things,” Bobby instructed them. “Derek and I will stay behind and look into this ‘true love’ theory of Peter’s.”

“ _Human_ love, not true love.”

“Just go, Peter.”

“Going, going.”

* * *

 

When Stiles regained consciousness, his mind was foggy, his vision blurred, and he was being tossed down a flight of stairs to a basement.

“Ow,” Stiles groaned, pulling himself up off the floor. “The valet service here is seriously lacking.”

“Well, if you play your cards right, you won’t be here much longer,” Gerard commented, leisurely strolling down the steps as if he had all the time in the world. “Just be a good and do as your told.”

“I’ve never been much for following orders,” Really, it depended on who was doing the ordering. “Nice job with the spike strip, by the way. Not meant for me, though, I don’t think.”

“It was meant for Derek or whoever decided to travel down that road to help him,” Gerard explained. “I would have preferred Derek.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would have.” Stiles was all too aware of the Argents hard-on for the alpha. “But you got me instead, gramps. So what are you going to do with me? Keep in mind, someone will come looking for me eventually.”

“Eventually, sure, but not anytime soon. Your father is out of town, out of the loop. I hear the older Winchester boy’s deal is coming due tomorrow night, so the younger one and Singer will be busy with that,” Gerard had obviously been keeping tabs on things. “And I know you’ve grown quite close to Derek and his pack, but they’re busy chasing their tails, trying to figure out how to stop the kanima now that it’s under my control.”

“You’ve got the kanima, huh,” That was something Stiles would have preferred to know before returning to Beacon Hills. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Now tell me what the hell you want from me,” Stiles wasn’t in the mood to play games. “They way you tell it, no one will notice I’m gone, so what use am I to you?”

“I want you to picture something for me,” Gerard prompted. “Scott McCall finds his best friend bloodied and beaten to a pulp.”

“You’re gonna beat up your own granddaughter?” To the best of Stiles knowledge, Allison was the only friend Scott had left. “That’s harsh, bro. What are you, 90? She could probably kick your ass up and down this room.”

“You may not care about Scott, but he cares about you,” Gerard acknowledged, backhanding Stiles and knocking him to the floor. “If it turns out he doesn’t, I’m sure there is someone else willing to take the necessary steps to ensure you make it through the night.”

Stiles didn’t fight back when Gerard began pummeling him with his fists, only put his arms up to guard his face and minimize the damage. The beating served a purpose, told him the Argents were serious. If there demands weren’t met, they wouldn’t look for another way, another button to push, they’d just kill him. It gave him enough information to know he couldn’t wait for help, for someone to save him, he had to get out of there himself.

Once Gerard had finished with him, had properly marred his face with a new set of cuts and bruises, he called two unknown hunters over. They picked Stiles up roughly and dragged him off to a windowless room beneath the stairs. The dumped him in the corner and stripped him of his shoes and socks, leaving his feet bare on the cement floor. They were gone as quickly as they’d come, slamming the door shut with a loud ‘thud’, and shuddering the room in relative darkness, the only light coming from a dull bulb dangling from the ceiling.

The room was bare save for a single chair. The acrid scent of bleach clogged his nostrils, as if the whole room had been scrubbed with it but not aired out afterward. The whole scene was designed to intimidate and ignite a fear response, and he’d admit it was kind of working.

“Well, shit.”

His toes curled on the unforgiving coldness of the floor as he climbed to his feet. He’d barely regained his bearings when the door swung open and Chris was joining him in the room, a malicious smile on his face.

“Hello, Stiles,” The hunter greeted him cordially, closing the door behind him. “I hope my father wasn’t too rough with you.”

“I’m pretty sure my face did more damage to his hands than his hands did to my face,” Stiles was certain Gerard’s geriatric mitts would ache a hell of a lot longer than his cheek. “So are you playing good cop or worse cop?”

“Oh, I’m not playing games, Stiles,” Chris shook his head. “I just want to have a conversation, see if we can come to terms without anymore bloodshed.”

“Generally, you don’t kidnap someone to initiate a parlay,” Stiles wasn’t inclined to believe he’d been snatched up so they could have a polite chat. “If you wanted a ceasefire, you should have asked for one. I would have considered acting as an intermediary.”

“It’s not so much a ceasefire I want as a surrender,” Chris lamented, nodding to the chair. “Sit down. Let’s talk about it.”

“I’m fine standing,” Sitting might give the illusion he was open to the conversation. “I don’t know what good talking to me will do. I can’t officially speak on behalf of Derek’s pack. I assume that is who you want to surrender.”

“It is,” Chris confirmed. “Derek killed my wife.”

“I doubt that,” Stiles would bet good money that was just another boldfaced lie. “Condolences for your loss, though. Losing your wife, that’s rough.”

“Your sympathies would mean more if you’d help capture the monster who killed her.”

“You mean, who you think killed her,” Stiles would be honestly shocked if there was any evidence to support their claim. “Yeah, I can’t help. I’m not going on a witch hunt with you.”

“It was Derek Hale. He bit Victoria at the rave,” Chris dropped his stoic mask in a calculated move, allowing his grief to show. “She was just trying to pick up out daughter from a bad date.”

“No, she was trying to kill Scott.” Stiles had been there, had heard the story, and seen the aftermath. “She ran him down then tried to poison him with wolfsbane, because he was still seeing Allison.”

“She wouldn’t attack a teenage boy without provocation,” Chris denied the story. “Werewolf or not, she wouldn’t do that.”

“Like your sister didn’t burn down a house full of people, without provocation, just because they were wolves?” It was the Argent way, after all. “It’s your family’s M.O., dude.”

“This is not the same thing,” Chris growled, advancing on Stiles. “Victoria is not Kate.”

“Oh, sure she is-- was. Just like you and Kate are your father,” It was the same evil spread through the entire family like a disease. “Allison will be too, once you get her on board. Hey, how many innocent packs do you think she’ll slaughter before graduation?”

“We live by a code,” Chris retorted, and Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “A code that prevents Allison from hurting anyone that didn’t try to hurt her first.”

“The Hales didn’t hurt your sister, but she still burned them alive,” The code was nothing but meaningless words strung together. “Scott never hurt your family, but Victoria still tried to kill him--”

“No, she didn’t!”

“Your wife found out Scotty was still plowing your daughter’s field, so he had to go, I get it-- Oh!” Stiles grunted as Argent landed a punch right to his jaw, grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. “Guess I’m on the right track, huh?”

Once he understood the Argent family’s thought process, it wasn’t hard to figure out how the matriarch had wound up bitten. She went to rave with the intent to kill Scott, in a warped attempt to protect her only child. Once she had Scott in her clutches, she had to finish the job or she risked him telling Allison everything.

“She wasn’t counting on Derek riding to the rescue, was she? He messed everything up,” Stiles smirked at Victoria’s misfortune. “She knew if Allison found out she was trying to kill Scott, that your ‘we hunt those who hunt us’ code was bullshit, it would be all over. You’d lose Allison forever. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to think quick. And Derek, well, he’s the perfect mark.”

Derek was the Argents scapegoat, the one constantly to blame for the mayhem that had befallen Beacon Hills, just because he was born a werewolf. In their minds, their humanness made them victims of the war they started and refused to end. The damage they wrought in their crusade to eradicate wolves, all the innocents caught in the crossfire, well, that was wolves fault because they refused to surrender, to kneel at the hunters feet and be beheaded.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chris snarled as he wrapped his fingers around Stiles already bruised neck. “Derek killed my wife.”

“I’d buy your old man killing her or even you--” Stiles flinched when the hand tightened around his throat, and a heavy wave of guilt flashed over the hunter’s face. “You. It was you. You killed her.”

“She was turning. I had to do it.” Chris argued, trying to justify his actions. “She asked me to. It’s what we do if one of us is bitten.”

“It’s what you do when one of you is bitten,” Well, that was the last piece of the puzzle, wasn’t it? It all made sense now. “Killing Scott would get him out of the way, but it wouldn’t turn Allison into what you are. That would need a different kind of push.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You had to go to extremes to get Allison to fall in line or risk losing her to the wolves,” Mrs. Argent probably fancied herself a martyr for taking one for the team. “And I know Derek would rather cut himself in half than bite one of you. So how’d you pull it off? Hmm? Costume make-up just to make it look like she’d been bitten? Or did you find a rogue wolf to torture into doing it?”

The sock to the gut was more powerful than Stiles was prepared for. The breath was forced from his lungs, and it was only Chris’s hold on him that kept him from doubling over. The hunter used his grip on Stiles neck to yank him over to the chair, forcing him into it.

“Victoria never would have gotten herself bit intentionally,” Chris shouted, wrenching Stiles head back. “She never would have left Allison like that.”

“She would if she thought she was protecting Allison,” There was no limit to what a parent would do to protect their child. “Her mother being killed by a werewolf would certainly get Allison off werewolf dick-- Ah!”

All right, the backhand to the face Stiles deserved, he’d admit that, but provoking Chris to violence was a necessary evil. Chris wouldn’t be getting so worked up if a part of him didn’t believe what Stiles was telling him.

“Derek did not bite your wife. He’s not the reason **you** killed her.” Stiles couldn’t stress that ‘you’ part enough. “You can do what you want to me, but I’ll never advise him to surrender to you.”

“I don’t need his agreement or yours,” The hunter claimed, a sadistic smile playing on his lips. “I just need someone willing to trade Derek’s life for yours.”

“Good luck finding that.”

“Singer won’t do it, Derek’s his son, he would never sacrifice him. The Winchesters have their own problems. Your father is an officer of the law, he’d waste my time trying to negotiate,” Chris had put a lot of thought into it for someone who had abducted Stiles by chance. “Your brother, however--”

“My brother knows what a pussy you are,” Jax was smarter than Chris, if he did take the deal, it would only be so he could put a bullet between Argent’s eyes at the exchange. “Even if he knew you had me, he knows you don’t have the balls to hurt me, not if you knew what he’d do to you.”

“I’m not scared of your brother, and I know you are not scared of me.”

Slowly and deliberately, Chris drew a fixed-bladed hunting knife from the sheath attached to his belt. Knives like that were typically for big game, used to skin animals and cut up meat. Stiles trembled involuntarily when the light glinted off the blade and memories of being on the receiving end of a similar weapon flooded his mind.

When he closed his eyes, the damp basement disappeared and he was in a rent-by-the-hour motel with blackout curtains for privacy. The chair became a lumpy bed with stained sheets and instruments of pain laid out on the duvet, waiting to be used. The overwhelming smell of bleach was replaced by the cheap perfume that haunted his nightmares and still made him nauseous.

“Oh god,” He pried his eyes open as bile rose in his throat. “I’m gonna be sick.”

He hunched over in the chair and began to vomit, emptying the contents of his stomach at their feet, soiling the hunter’s boots.

“Oh, so it’s knives that scare you,” Chris grinned at the development, taking Stiles by the chin with his free hand, forcing his head back up. “Good.”

“Good?” Stiles swallowed thickly resigning himself to his fate, just as he had done as a child. “You know what, if you plan to break out the threats of heinous torture, beating me some more with your fists, or carving me up with that knife, I’ll tell you now it won’t work. I’m not that easy to break.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Stiles, but I will so whoever accepts our trade deal knows I’m serious about wanting the wolf who killed my wife,” Chris brought the knife to Stiles throat, running the sharp edge over it with just enough pressure to break the skin and draw blood. “We can do this the easy way. I want to do it the easy way. I don’t want to hurt one of my daughter’s classmates. I can give you my phone, you can call your brother, tell him I hurt you, and you want to go home. Or, I can hurt you and keep hurting you until it becomes too much, and you beg me to call your brother.”

“I’ve got a pretty high threshold for pain,” He supposed he could thank his aunt for that. “I think I can take whatever you got. Have at it, man.”

Stiles was granted a reprieve by a sudden ruckus outside the door. Thumping, yelling, and sounds of a struggle echoed into the room. Chris pinned Stiles with a look that said he’d be back as he pulled the door open. Stiles caught a quick glimpse of Erica and Boyd before the door was closed again.

A range of emotions washed over him as he found himself alone. He was relieved he wouldn’t be tortured...yet. He was pissed the fuck off that the Argents had two more hostages to use and abuse. And he was really fucking affronted when he realized Chris had left him unrestrained when the only thing between him and freedom was a locked door.

“What is this, amateur hour?”

* * *

 

Peter and Sam had gone their separate ways almost as soon as they’d arrived at the lacrosse game. Sam elected to join Melissa and Lydia on the bleachers, citing the slightly higher elevation gave him a better vantage point. Peter had chosen to remain at ground level, keeping to the shadows, lurking between the bleachers so he could make a quick getaway if need be.

As the game commenced, it was clear they didn’t have much it worry about, it all went smoothly. Jackson and Isaac were on the field while Scott warmed the bench, and there wasn’t a claw or lizard scale to be seen. It was just a normal, depressingly boring game that had Peter wishing for a little maiming to spice things up.

He wondered briefly if his wish had been granted when Gerard showed up during the last half of the game. The hunter seemed like nothing more than a dutiful principal supporting his team as he took up an empty bottom row seat on the bleachers.

“ _Scott, can you hear me?_ ” Gerard spoke in low tones only audible to those with enhanced hearing. “ _Let’s put a real clock on this game, Scott. I’ll give you until the last thirty seconds. When that scoreboard clock begins counting down from thirty, if you haven’t given me Derek, then Jackson is going to kill someone._ ”

Peter peered around the bleachers to gauge Scott’s reaction. The young wolf was tense, naturally, there was a tick in his jaw and a concentrated furrow to his brow. He hadn’t lost control, that was a good sign.

“ _So tell me, Scott, who is going to die tonight? Should it be your mother, who so bravely came out to support you? Or the pretty little redhead who managed to survive the bite of an alpha?_ ” Gerard kept his gaze trained on the field, not making eye contact with the potential victims. “ _Or how about your best friend Stiles? It’s a dangerous time for a werewolf sympathizer, and I bet you don’t even know where he is right now._ ”

‘Where is Stiles?’ Peter types out on the keypad of his phone.

**NEW TEXT MESSAGE** **:** **_WHINY WINCHESTER_ ** : ' _Charming, probably.'_

“’Probably,’” Peter scoffed, pocketing his phone and tuning his ear back on Gerard’s taunts.

“ _Or maybe Jackson should kill one of these innocent teenagers with their whole life ahead of them. Or should I do everyone a favor and kill that ridiculous coach? It’s up to you, Scott,_ ” Gerard laid the decision at the teenagers feet. “ _But you are going to help me take Derek down, because if you don’t, I’ll have Jackson rip someone’s head off right in the middle of the field and drench everyone you love and care about in blood._ ”

Scott’s breathing picked up, becoming labored at the continued threats.

“ _Don’t you know what you’re really bargaining for, Scott? Haven’t you guessed what the real offer on the table is? It’s Allison. It’s always been Allison,_ ” Gerard chuckled darkly, revealing who Scott would really be sacrificing his pawns for. “ _You give me Derek, I’ll let you have Allison. Your friend Stiles gave me the idea. He told me my granddaughter is the only one you care for, the only one you’ll fight for._ ”

The second mention of Stiles implied Gerard had spoken to him recently, and Peter highly doubted Stiles had accepted a call from the hunter or willingly sat down for a friendly conversation. When Gerard had brought him up previously, he’d made it sound like he had access to Stiles, immediate access, and could have him harmed by the kanima or someone else within seconds. Neither implication boded well for the teenager.

“Oh, damn, they’ve got Stiles,” Peter determined with a long suffering sigh. “Well, I’ll just have to go get him.”

* * *

 

When Jackson clipped Isaac at the tail-end of the game, injuring him enough to pull him off the field, Sam knew things were about to pick up. His suspicion was confirmed when Gerard and his hunter friends followed the young wolf to the locker room. Sam had tried to look to Peter for back-up, but the older wolf was nowhere to be found. Unwilling to leave Isaac to the Argents, Sam jumped off the bleachers and jogged to the school building, entering the darkened locker room through the side door.

From behind a row of lockers, he could see Isaac crawling along the floor, and Sam realized Jackson must have infected him with kanima venom during their altercation on the field. Gerard must have thought the same thing or he or one of his lackeys would have killed Isaac on-sight rather than stalk him across the room.

“ _It was a good effort, Isaac. It was._ ” Gerard condescendingly praised the wolf as he accepted a large sword from one of his henchmen. “ _This would be so much more poetic if it were half-time._ ”

Isaac crawled over tot he sinks by the showers, using what little strength he retained to pull himself up to his feet. Even as Gerard raised the sword to cut him in half, Isaac remained defiant. He showed no fear, and it wasn’t until Sam spied Scott’s reflection in one of the mirrors that he understood why.

“ _You said I had until there were thirty seconds left on the scoreboard,_ ” Scott stated, stepping between Isaac and the hunters. “ _This isn’t part of the deal._ ”

“ _Isaac is a member of Derek’s pack. He’s fair game._ ” Gerard retorted, indifferent to Scott’s presence. “ _You couldn’t possibly believe you could protect everyone, did you? You can’t even protect your own pack. How on earth did you think you could protect someone else’s?_ ”

“ _You don’t have to hurt Isaac or anyone else,_ ” Scott reached back to grab a handful of Isaac’s jersey, as if keeping a strong hold on him would keep him alive. “ _’ll get you Derek, okay? I will._ ”

“ _You’re out of time, Scott. Out of time and out of options,_ ” Gerard scowled at the omega. “ _I gave you time to bring me Derek, you chose to sit on the bench and watch the game. I don’t think you’re taking me seriously._ ”

“ _No, I am. I am,_ ” Scott insisted. “ _I swear, I am._ ”

" _No, you’re not,_ ” Gerard shook his head, disappointed. “ _But I do believe you will, very, very soon._ ”

Gerard turned, stomping out of the room, his two friends on his heels. Scott stared at the hunters retreating backs in horror, fully comprehending the gravity of the threat.

“So, Scott,” Sam called out to the wolf as he flipped the light switch, illuminating the locker room. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Sam,” Scott faltered, momentarily glancing over his shoulder at Isaac. “What are you doing here?”

“Saw Isaac got down on the field, thought I’d check on him,” It was a good thing he did, too. “If I hadn’t, I may not have found out you were working for Gerard.”

“No. No, I’m not,” Scott vigorously denied the accusation. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand that Gerard believes you are going to hand Derek over to him,” He’d have to go through Sam and Bobby to do that. “Judging by Isaac’s complete lack of surprise, I’m guessing he’s in on the little coup, too.”

“I didn’t know anything about Scott and Gerard,” Isaac said defensively. “I just don’t….”

“Care?” Yeah, Sam had picked up on Isaac’s apathy toward pretty much everyone. “You got what you wanted from Derek, so now you couldn’t care less about what happens to him.”

“It’s not like that,” Scott remarked harshly. “And I’m not working with Gerard. He just thinks I am.”

“Let’s say I believed that,” He didn’t, if only because a double-cross seemed out of Scott’s wheelhouse. “Does Derek know about this? You are the one who went to him for this alliance under the guise of full disclosure.”

“Gerard threatened my mom,” Scott admitted, ducking his head. “How showed up at my house with the kanima. The kanima had its tail wrapped around my mom’s neck, choking her. Gerard said he would have her killed if I didn’t help him.”

“I’m sorry that happened to your mother, but you should have come to us. We could have helped you.” Suffice to say, it was probably too late to fix things now. “Giving into Gerard’s demands will only make things worse for you and anyone else involved.”

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Scott shouted. “I panicked.”

“Of course you did. You’re a child, you reacted like a child.” Any other time, Sam might accept that, but not after everything that had happened in the last year. “Derek has tried, multiple times, to get you to understand. Hell, we’ve all tried. For some reason unbeknownst to me, you seem to be under the impression that **you** , a newbie to the entire supernatural world, knows better than those of us who have been living in it our entire lives.”

“I didn’t know if I could trust Derek or any of you,” Scott argued pitifully. “I still don’t.”

“Who do you trust?” Sam hoped the kid had more than his mother and girlfriend on his list.

“Deaton,” Ah, so there was another person on Scott’s list, one who, according to Bobby, just so happened to always have an ulterior motive. “He’s been helping me with Gerard.”

“Well, I hope Deaton can get you out of the deal you made with Gerard, because I will put you down before I let you hand Derek over to him.” Sam let the threat hand in the air as he turned to leave the locker room.

Heading back the field, he noticed the game had come to an abrupt halt. The fans from the bleachers were now on the field, encircling something on the grass. Sam had to push and shove his way through the gawking crowd to get a better look.

“Jackson.”

The teenager’s body was lying prone on the ground, stomach eviscerated, his clawed hands covered in blood. If Sam were a betting man, he’d say Gerard had Jackson kill himself. The question was, why?

* * *

 

The door between Stiles and his escape was just a flimsy wooden thing the Argents must not have had the time to upgrade with the rest of the house – a gross oversight on their part. He probably could’ve broken it down with something, it wouldn’t have taken much force, but it would have made far too much noise, and definitely would have alerted his captors. He settled for breaking a leg off the chair and using it to jimmy the pins out of the door hinges so he could just move the door out of the way.

He slid it just far enough to peek out, finding Erica and Boyd hanging by their wrists from the ceiling. There was duct tape covering their mouths, and wires around their arms sending electrical currents through them from a machine on a nearby table. They seemed to be alone, but there was no telling how long that would last, meaning Stiles had to act quickly and quietly. He widened the gap of the door enough so he could slip through, then moved it back into place the best he could to make it appear as thought it hadn’t been opened or tampered with in any way.

Stiles hugged the wall as he searched the basement for anything he could use as a weapon, knowing it would require more than a chair leg to make it out of this house of horrors. He came across a random assortment of junk, a set of cast iron skillets and a broom hanging from hooks on the wall, and tubs of holiday decorations stacked high. The only remotely useful items were some tools on a work bench, and several arrows laid out neatly on a shelf, waiting to be packed into a quiver.

The plod of footsteps on the stairs had the wolves fearfully pulling at their restraints and Stiles darting into the corner to keep out of sight. Chris came into a view a moment later, barely giving his captives a passing glance as he made his way to the machine that administered the electricity.

“ _You know, my family’s done this for a lo_ _n_ _g time. Long enough to learn things, like how a certain level of electrical current can keep you from transforming,_ ” Chris taunted the wolves, his fingers twitching over the dial of the conductor. “ _At another level, you can’t heal. A few amps higher, and no heightened strength. That kind of scientific accuracy, it makes you wonder where the line between the natural and supernatural really exists._ ”

Erica and Boyd whimpered through their gags as Chris continued to fiddle with the dial. The ‘will he or won’t he’ game that hunter was playing was a sick form of psychological torture that made Stiles blood boil. His aunt had a game like that, she’d press a blade to his spine and tell him if she cut deep enough, with enough pressure, in the right spot, she could paralyze him. Stiles didn’t like the mind games then and he liked them less when they were being used on someone else-- he couldn’t let it continue.

As delicately as he could, he took one of the arrows off the shelf and a hammer off the work bench, gripping them tightly in his fists. He moved around the wolves, tapping a finger to his lips to urge them to remain quiet. His lack of shoes worked in his favor, kept his steps silent as he crept up behind the hunter.

In Stiles limited experience, sneak attacks ultimately failed, not because the person doing the sneaking wasn’t quiet enough, but because they didn’t have the balls to carry out the ‘attack’ part. They’d come up on someone with a weapon in hand then start mouthing off, at most only grappling with their opponent. In reality, if you wanted to prove your intent, that you were serious about the lengths you were willing to go to survive, you had to be willing to hurt someone, not kill, necessarily, but injure enough to get your point across. Stiles kept that in mind as he launched his attack.

He’d done the math in his head, calculated how much force he could swing with to knock Chris off balance, but not fully incapacitate or kill. When he swung the hammer, he did it with confidence, connecting it with the back of Chris’s head. The hunter grunted and doubled-over onto the table in front of him. Even through his disorientation, Chris reached for a bowie knife on the table, but Stiles was faster, bringing the head of the hammer down on Chris’s left hand, making the hunter cry out.

“This next parts gonna hurt too,” Stiles warned before shoving the arrow into the meat of Chris’s thigh, bringing him to his knees. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I missed all your major arteries. You should be all right, so long as you don’t move around too much.”

He left the arrow lodged inside the hunter as he patted him down, finding a holstered gun and the hunting knife from earlier. Stiles stashed the gun in his waistband, the bowie knife from the table in his back pocket, and replaced his hammer with the hunting knife.

“You were right about me not liking knives. I hate them. That doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use them.” Stiles held the knife just in Chris’s field of vision. “So, here’s the deal, you’re going to stay here, on your knees, while Erica, Boyd, and I leave. Or, I can stab you in the throat, watch you bleed out, and then we can leave.”

“I might believe you, Stiles, if I didn’t know you,” Chris huffed, rubbing the forming lump on the back of his head. “You’re not a murderer. Your brother definitely is. Your father was a soldier, he’s probably killed more than any of us. You, though, you’re the baby of your little family. You’ve been protected. You’ve never had to get your hands dirty.”

“It’s more self-defense than it is murder. I mean, no one would believe I killed you in cold blood. They’ll believe you tried to hurt me. They will definitely believe that.” Stiles had plenty of bruises to attest to it. “Think about it, man. I’m the son of a sheriff who was kidnapped off the side of the road and tortured alongside two of my classmates. And you? You come from a family of psychopaths, your sister, your daddy, even pretty little Allison has taken a ride on the crazy train.”

Chris flinched at his daughters name, but remained docile. He didn’t struggle, didn’t try to strong arm Stiles or get away. He had the muscle and training to easily overpower Stiles, but he didn’t. A hammer to the head, arrow to the thigh, and a knife poised to slice his throat open, and he still didn’t see Stiles as a threat.

“You’ve got all the motive here, Chris. My dad labeled your sister as the arsonist/murderer that she was, splashed her name all over the news, ruining your family’s ‘good’ name,” Stiles had his own motives, sure, but none of it was really public knowledge. “It’s only natural you’d want revenge for that. And, well, how better to get revenge than to take his only son captive?”

“And what’s my motive for taking your friends?” Chris jerked his head toward Erica and Boyd. “Did you think about how to explain that away when you concocted this little escape plan?”

“They were passing by, heard me screaming for help, and tried to rescue me,” Of course Stiles had thought it through, he wasn’t an idiot. “But, sadly, they were unprepared and you got them too.”

“Jesus,” Chris laughed mirthlessly. “You really are insane, aren’t you?”

“Certifiably, probably. Here’s the thing, though, you make one move I find threatening, and I’ll make damn sure Allison is the one who ends up in a psych ward,” That was a promise Stiles wholeheartedly planned to make good on if Chris failed to cooperate. “I’ll tell the cops she helped you, ‘cause she believed Erica and Boyd were wolves that had to be killed. She just kept ranting on-and-on about werewolves as she electrocuted my friends. The poor thing must’ve had some sort of psychotic break after she found out you killed her mother.”

“Do not threaten my daughter!” Oh, the hunter was definitely paying attention now. “Don’t.”

“You’re not in the position to be giving orders, Christopher,” Stiles was the one in charge now, not him. “And I’m done playing games with you.”

He ripped the arrow out of Chris’s thigh then kicked him in the ribs, sending him sprawling to the floor. He used his shirt to wipe his prints from the hunting knife and arrow and tossed them across the room. He took the gun from his waistband and fired two shots into the conductor machine, effectively destroying it. Without the electrical currents impeding their strength and transformation, Erica and Boyd managed to free themselves from their bonds.

“I was going to let you g-go,” Chris coughed, putting pressure on his thigh wound. “I had to wait for everyone else to leave. I was going to let you go, that’s why I came down here.”

“So, you either grew a conscience in record time or already got what you wanted from someone else,” Stiles would put money on the latter. “It doesn’t erase what you’ve done. Torturing kids in your basement because it gets you off, that’s what you are. A single act of mercy doesn’t wipe your slate clean.”

“Stiles, let’s just go,” Erica took his hand in hers. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Stiles kept the gun trained on Chris as Erica tugged him toward the stairs. Boyd must have sensed his hesitation to leave, because he gave Stiles a rough push to get his feet moving. Stiles went along grudgingly, allowing the wolves to lead him up the steps to the main floor.

Despite Argent’s claim that no one else was around, they remained cautious as they moved through the house. No one popped out of a dark corner to attack them and they weren’t shot at from a distance, so Stiles would give Chris credit for telling at least one truth. They made it out the front door without being maimed or murdered, he’d consider that a win for the evening.

As they crossed the lawn, Stiles felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, a sure sign someone was close. Whoever it was felt different, dark, but not wrong per se, so he elected to ignore them for the time being. He shifted his focus to wiping his prints off the stolen gun with the hem of his shirt and throwing it into the bushes.

“What’d you do that for?” Boyd questioned, dismayed by the action. “There could be more hunters around or on their way.”

“Then you’ll have to use your claws on them.” There was no way Stiles was going to get caught with one of the Argents weapons in his possession. “You have any idea how many bodies are probably on that gun?”

“We need to get out of here,” Erica declared, raking her fingers through her hair anxiously. “Before Allison or her grandpa come back.”

“How’d you end up with them anyway?” Stiles asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Did they raid Derek’s old house again?”

“We were in the woods, looking for a pack we heard earlier,” Erica explained, gazing forlornly toward the wolves. “We were going to see if they’d let us join them.”

“You’re already part of a pack,” They couldn’t pledge their loyalty to more than one alpha. “Derek’s.”

“We didn’t sign up for hunters and killer lizards,” Boyd remarked scornfully. “I wanted friends. Erica wanted--”

“Bullshit. You wanted power. Did you think it was free? Everything has a price.” Even if the abilities were offered as a gift, the scales had to balance somehow. “The enhanced healing, the strength, it was _given_ to you, you didn’t earn it. You don’t get to cry foul now because there’s a toll to pay.”

“When we took the bite, we didn’t know we’d be paralyzed by a lizard,” Erica cringed, rubbing the back of her neck like she could feel the phantom pain of the kanima’s claw. “We didn’t know we’d be tortured by hunters.”

“And the Hales didn’t come into this world knowing they’d be burned alive. The difference is, they never got a choice. They were born into this war. You guys, you _chose_ the bite. That was a decision _you_ made.” Stiles was only human and he still ended up in the Argent’s basement, so no one was exempt, bite or not. “Isaac made that choice too. Is he like you? Does he only want the perks? Is he supposed to meet up with you guys once you find a new pack?”

“No, he’s staying here with Scott.” Boyd glowered, obviously disapproving of that plan. “Even though Scott’s only an omega, Isaac thinks he’d be a better alpha than Derek.”

“Well, that’s his mistake.” In all their years of friendship, Stiles had never really seen any true leadership qualities from Scott. “So, back on topic, you two were in the woods, running away like pussies because being a werewolf ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. What happened next?”

“The howls we heard weren’t real, they were just a recording the Argents were playing to draw us in. They surrounded us and Allison used us as target practice until they brought us in,” Erica reported the night events leading up to their capture. “How about you? How’d they get you?”

“Spike strip and chloroform,” And that was the last time Stiles would get out of his car alone without a loaded weapon on his person. “Look, you guys made a mistake out of fear, Derek will understand that. He’ll take you back--”

“We’re not going back,” Boyd snarled, linking his fingers with Erica’s. “We didn’t sign on for any of this. We just want to be safe. We’ll find a new pack or it’ll just be the two of us.”

“Have you learned nothing from tonight?” Stiles gaped, hoping like hell the beta’s would get a clue. “You’ll never survive on your own.”

“We’ll take that risk. We’re going.” Erica stood firm in her decision. “Do you want us to walk you home first?”

“No,” He didn’t want anything from them or anyone else. “If you’re going to go, just go.”

Stiles turned away from them and toward the street, listening to their retreating footsteps. He took a breath, the first one it felt like he’d taken all night, and readied himself for the long trek to the bus stop. He didn’t make it two feet before he was joined on the sidewalk by the presence he’d felt upon exiting the house.

“Don’t feel bad. Nothing you could have said would have changed their minds. Cowards are set in their ways like that,” Peter noted, glancing down at his feet. “Where are your shoes?”

“Argent’s henchmen took them,” It hadn’t really been a priority to look for them. “I don’t know what they did with them.”

“You have another pair at home, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll pick them up on our way to the preserve,” Peter decided, draping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and leading him down the block. “My cars just over here. Come on.”

“It’s Derek’s car,” Stiles mumbled, seeing the Camaro parked on the curb. “And I’m not going with you to the preserve. I’m tired. I just want to go home and sleep.”

“And you can. You can sleep as long as you want,” Peter promised, opening the passenger side door. “Once we save Jackson. We have a way to fix him.”

“I don’t care,” Stiles had no fucks left to give. He was taking his bow and exiting stage left. “Good luck and all, but I’m not doing this anymore.”

“I’ve been dead for a little while, so I won’t presume to know what’s happened recently,” Peter cocked his head to the side to study Stiles. “But I think I know you.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else, apparently.”

“You’re the caretaker, Stiles,” Peter determined, the corner of his lips quirked up in a smile. “You could have left Erica and Boyd behind, but you didn’t. You had to get them to safety.”

“Fat lot of good that did,” The betas were right back where they started the night, running for their lives in the woods. “They won’t survive.”

“Probably not, but you gave them a chance,” Peter acknowledged. “You gave them a chance, because it was the right thing to do.”

“You’ve been dead too long,” Stiles would interrogate him about his resurrection just as soon as he could find the will to give a damn. “I’m not the benevolent one in this story. I helped Erica and Boyd because they happened to be there. If the Argents had them at some other location, I wouldn’t have wasted my time looking for them.”

“Oh, that’s a load of crap,” Peter scoffed. “Why did you come to Beacon Hills tonight, Stiles?”

“I don’t know,” Did it really matter anymore? “I was checking on my house, making sure no one was using it to pull off some dipshit plan.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t to see how things were going here? See how your soldiers were fairing on the battlefield?” Peter smirked knowingly, drumming his fingers on the car door. “You had to see, you still do. You need to see this through. If you don’t, you’ll never believe it’s really over. See this through, Stiles. You don’t have to fight, there are enough fighters. You just need to see.”

“Fine.”

* * *

 

When the authorities had arrived at the lacrosse field, Sam had conned his way into the coroner’s van alongside Melissa McCall. He wasn’t entirely sure why Melissa wanted to accompany the body, but he couldn’t very well let her go by herself on the off chance that something went awry – a real possibility in Sam’s line of work. Luckily, they managed to make the trip to the morgue without any issues, supernatural or otherwise.

There was no medical examiner on shift due to the late hour, and the transport staff only stuck around long enough to transfer Jackson’s body from the van to a slab in the morgue, leaving Sam and Melissa on their own. The paired shared an apprehensive look as they stepped up to the slab. It was only when they got close that they noticed the abnormal substance seeping steadily from a hole in the body bag.

“That stuff, uh,” Sam gestured to the fluid that looked suspiciously like kanima venom. “That’s not normal, right?”

“Right,” Melissa confirmed, biting her lip nervously. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. Of course, until a few days ago, I’d never seen a humanoid lizard outside the movies, so….”

“So, uh, we need to find out what’s going on in there,” Sam motioned to the bag. “And there’s only one real way to do that.”

“Oh god, are we gonna do this?” Melissa fretted, wringing her hands. “Yeah, we’re gonna do this.”

“I’ll do it,” Sam had seen a lot of weird shit in his life, nothing inside the body bag could surprise him. “I got it.”

He slowly unzipped the bag from head-to-toe, inhaling a shaky breath as he took in the sight of the fresh corpse, and the significant changes to it. Despite being deceased, Jackson had somehow healed during transport, there wasn’t a trace of his wound to be seen beyond smears of blood on his hands. The kanima part of the teenager was trying to take over, its scales painted the side of his throat and face. The most shocking thing, however, was the fact that Jackson’s entire body was now encased in a cocoon of sorts.

“Holy crap,” Sam gasped, studying the transparent casing. “What’s happening to him?”

“I thought you were gonna tell me. I mean, you’re the hunter here,” Melissa pointed out with a raised brow. “Is it bad?”

“It doesn’t look good,” Sam observed as the body suddenly began moving. “Whoa! Um, could you zip it up, please?”

“M-Me? _Me_?” The woman spluttered indignantly. “You’re the one who opened it.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He opened it, he could close it, it was just a body bag. “I’ll, uh, I’ll do it.”

“No, I can do it. I will do it.” Melissa conjured up the nerve the big bad hunter couldn’t. “Okay, here we go.”

“Zip,” Sam gulped as the body began to wiggle around. “Zip! Zip, Nurse McCall! Zip! Zip!”

“Okay, okay, okay, okay!” Melissa latched onto the zipper at the end of the bag and pulled it all the way up, hiding the body once more. “What do we do now?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never dealt with a kanima before. I don’t know what happens when it dies,” Sam scratched his head. “I’ll call Bobby, update him on the situation, see if he knows anything. You should call Scott and tell him to get here. We might need him.”

“Yeah, okay.”

* * *

 

Stiles had allowed Peter to take him to the Hale house with the stipulation that, at most, he would be an apathetic, casual observer to whatever the fuck was going to go down. He had no intention of actively participating in the hunting or saving on Jackson/the kanima. He was just going to sit his ass down and let the others sort out of the mess without dragging him into it – that was the plan anyway. It was worth noting that people rarely got on board with his self-preservation plans, and this time would probably be no different.

“The hell happened to you?” Bobby zeroed in on Stiles injuries as soon as he came through the door. “You lose a round with Doc Benton?”

“Does it matter?” Stiles snapped irritably. “It happened. It’s done. You don’t have to act like you give a shit. Let’s move on.”

“In the spirit of moving on, I have something,” Peter popped open a loose board on one of the staircase steps. “It’s something I put here after I left the hospital.”

“What is it?” Derek asked impatiently. “Some kind of book?”

“What century are you living in?” Peter snarked, removing a laptop from the hollowed out step. “A few days after I got out of the coma, I transferred everything we had onto it. Fortunately, the Argents aren’t the only ones that keep records.”

“Wait,” Stiles took a half-step forward, itching to get his hands on the computer. “That’s your family’s...lore?”

“Oh, I’ve piqued your interest now, haven’t I?” Peter smirked, setting the laptop on the table and powering it on. “It’s so much more than lore, child. It’s documentation of our entire history, including every creature we’ve ever encountered. I’ll make you a copy when we’re done with a kanima.”

“Cool,” Not that Stiles would need it, ‘cause he was done with supernatural bullshit, but it might be an interesting read. “Thanks.”

“I’d like a copy of that, too,” Bobby interjected. “Could be useful.”

“Then you should have asked Talia for a hard copy when you warmed her bed,” Peter said brusquely. “I don’t trust you enough to hand over my life’s work to you.”

“But you trust Stiles?”

“Stiles is not a hunter, and he proved that very well tonight,” Peter praised the teenager. “If not for him, the Argents would probably be dumping Erica and Boyd’s bodies on our doorstep right about now.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Derek whipped around to face Stiles. “The Argents did that to you?”

“The Argents snagged two of your pups out of the woods,” They’d snatched him out of the woods too, but he wouldn’t delude himself into thinking anyone present would care. “I was in the right place at the right time. I helped them out. Then they ran off to look for a new pack.”

“If they’re lucky, they’ll find Satomi’s pack, she’d send them back to you after a stern talking to,” Peter told his nephew. “If the hunters come across them again, they’ll probably just put them down.”

“They’d be putting them out of there misery, we should all be so lucky,” Stiles muttered offhandedly. “Can you just search for any mention of the kanima in your family’s records, Peter?”

“Yes, yes, I’ve got it here,” Peter typed away on his computer. “Okay, look, I found something. Looks like the form we’ve seen of Jackson is just a beta shape.”

“Well, meaning what?” Derek pushed his uncle for a more in-depth explanation. “It can turn into something bigger?”

“Bigger,” Peter nodded to the picture on the screen. “And badder.”

“He’s turning into _that_?” Stiles eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he looked over Peter’s shoulder to view the photo. “That has freaking wings.”

“Oh, look, somebody actually made an animation of it. Maybe it’s less frightening if we...” Peter clicked on the animation, triggering a loud screech through the speakers, and displaying a terrifying visual of the kanima’s evolved form, prompting him to slam the laptop lid close. “Nope. Not at all. Might be a good time to call Scott, tell him to bring the kanima to us. Oh, and we’ll need Lydia.”

“We’re not calling Lydia,” Derek protested his uncle’s instructions. “There’s no time to bring her into this.”

“That’s the problem. We’re rushing. We’re moving too fast.” Peter acknowledged. “And while everybody knows that a moving target is harder to hit, here we are, racing right into Gerard’s cross-hairs.”

“If I get the chance to kill Jackson, I’m taking it,” Derek declared firmly, leaving no room for argument. “We don’t know how much time we have. I’ll tell Scott to meet us with Jackson at the halfway point. The warehouse district should do.”

“Fine.”

* * *

 

Sneaking a corpse out of the coroner’s office in the middle of the night was shockingly easy. While Melissa ran interference with hospital security, Sam, Scott, and Isaac simply rolled Jackson’s body out on a gurney and pushed it across the parking lot to Sam’s borrowed car. They were preparing to load it into the trunk when Sam’s phone shrilled loudly in the otherwise quiet night, startling them into a standstill.

“Sorry,” He sheepishly apologized to the spooked teenagers as he answered the call. “Hello?”

“ _Sam_?” Lydia’s grief-laden voice filtered over the line.

“Lydia, how are you?” Sam questioned tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“ _I got a text from Peter Hale-- th-the man-- the_ _ **thing**_ _that attacked me at the_ _winter_ _formal,_ ” Lydia’s voice shook as she spoke. “ _He said there was a way to save Jackson before he evolves or something. He made it sound like Jackson wasn’t really dead, that Jackson needs my help. Sam, is that true? What’s happening?_ ”

“Um,” It was a loaded question, one Sam wasn’t quite sure he could answer. “How much do you know about this stuff?”

“ _Pieces. Half of it’s like a dream,_ ” Lydia confessed. “ _I don’t need to know everything yet. I just need to know how I can help Jackson._ ”

“I don’t know, Lydia.” Sam wasn’t aware of the specifics. “What else did Peter’s message say?”

“ _Only that I could help,_ ” Lydia sniffled. “ _He gave me an address to meet him. I didn’t want to go alone, not after what he did to me, and I can’t get a hold of Allison or anyone else._ ”

“You were right to call me,” It was far too dangerous for anyone to confront Peter alone. “Look just stay where you are, I’ll come get you. We can go together.”

“ _Okay,_ ” Lydia agreed. “ _I’m still at the school. I couldn’t bring myself to leave._ ”

“I’ll be right there.” Sam promised, ending the call. “Scott, do you think you guys can get Jackson to the warehouse by yourselves? I need to go get Lydia. I’m afraid she might try to meet up with Peter alone if I don’t.”

“Yeah, we’ve got this….” Scott trailed off as Chris Argent limped out from behind a large cargo van. “Mr. Argent...you’re alone?”

“More than you know,” Chris said through a self-deprecating smile.

“What do you want?” Sam asked, taking a protective stance in front of the wolves.

“We don’t have much in common,” Chris acknowledged, adjusting the gauze wrapped around his thigh. “But at the moment, we have a common enemy.”

“Yeah, we do,” Scott concurred timidly. “That’s why I’m trying to get him out of here.”

“I don’t mean Jackson,” Chris sighed, bowing his head. “Gerard has twisted his way into Allison’s head, the same way he did with Kate. I’m losing her, and I know you’re losing her too.”

“You’re right,” Scott said sullenly. “So, can you trust me to fix this? Can you let us go?”

“No,” Chris shook his head. “My car is faster.”

“I don’t trust him,” Sam didn’t bother to lower his voice when critiquing the other hunter. “He’s always got a hidden agenda.”

“So does everyone else,” Scott grumbled. “Look, just go talk to Lydia, make sure she’s okay. I’ve got this.”

* * *

 

It was a tactical decision to show up at the warehouse a little earlier than the others. It gave Derek the time to fuck around outside somewhere, while Stiles, Peter, and Bobby found a spot behind some scaffolding and wood pallets to keep out of sight.

“We’ve got action,” Peter announced, climbing the scaffolding to get a better vantage point. “Car pulling up outside.”

“Stiles, keep your head down and don’t get involved.” Bobby instructed as he set up his rifle on a wooden pallet. “The Argents already proved they’re not afraid to hurt you, and now they’ve got control of the kanima.”

“I have no plans to get involved,” Stiles assured him, leaning against the wooden pallets and facing away from the entrance of the warehouse. “I’ll just stand here and make sarcastic comments.”

“I’d prefer silence, but I know that’s a lot to ask of you,” Bobby clucked, staring into his rifle sight. “All right, that’s Argent’s SUV. Chris, Scott, and Isaac are getting out of it.”

“ _Where’s Derek?_ ” Chris’s voice floated into the warehouse.

“I’m surprised he’s up and around. He must’ve cauterized the wound and popped a couple pain pills to keep himself on his feet,” Stiles remarked sourly. “Should have shot him in both kneecaps instead of stabbing him with the stupid arrow.”

“You _stabbed_ him?” Peter’s eyes twinkled with delight. “Oh, good for you.”

“Peter, don’t praise Stiles violent impulses,” Bobby chastised the wolf. “Do something useful and use your enhanced hearing to figure out where the hell Derek is.”

“He’s coming in all on fours,” Peter rolled his eyes at his nephews antics. “He certainly enjoys making an entrance.”

“ _I’m here for Jackson,_ ” Chris made his motives clear. “ _Not you,_ _Derek_ _._ ”

“Oh, sure he’s here for Jackson now,” Stiles snorted. “Once Jackson’s neutralized, Derek is fair game.”

“ _Somehow, I don’t find that comforting,_ ” Derek retorted dismissively. “ _We need to get Jackson inside, we’re too exposed out here._ ”

Stiles listened to footsteps, car doors shutting, and wheels turning as the SUV was driven into the confines of the warehouse. When the engine cut, it was car doors again, followed by the ‘thwap’ of something heavy being dropped to the ground.

“Oh yeah, just dump the body right there,” Bobby groused. “No respect for the dead.”

“Yeah, ‘cause digging up corpses and burning them is super respectful.” Stiles snarked.

“ _Derek, where are Peter and Lydia?_ ” Scott asked the alpha. “ _You said they were the ones who could save Jackson._ ”

“ _We’re past that._ ” Derek replied curtly over the whir of a zipper.

“Derek’s opening the body bag,” Stiles determined. “He’s getting up close and personal with the kanima, isn’t he?”

“Ye _p_ ,” Peter confirmed, adding an extra ‘pop’ to the ‘p’ for effect.

“Idiot.”

“There’s no goo,” Bobby noted, continuing to look through the rifle sight. “Sam said Jackson was encased in some sort of cocoon, but he’s not.”

“Caterpillars go into cocoons and come out butterflies once metamorphose is complete.” Stiles doubted Jackson would be turning into anything resembling a pretty butterfly, though. “His metamorphose must be complete.”

“Well, that’s terrifying.”

“ _Think about it, Scott. Gerard controls him now,_ ” Derek said in reference to the kanima. “ _He’s turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog. He’s set all this in motion so that Jackson could get even bigger and more powerful._ ”

“ _No. No, he wouldn’t do that,_ ” Chris denied the accusations made against his father. “ _If Jackson’s a dog, he’s turning rabid, and my father wouldn’t let a rabid dog live._ ”

“I think the fact that his father is a rabid dog invalidates that argument,” Stiles shot down Chris’s defense of Gerard. “Apparently, ignorance and stupidity are hereditary, and that family has it in spades.”

“ _Of course not,_ ” Gerard’s voice signaled he too had entered Thunderdome, nearly completing the Argent trifecta. “ _Anything that dangerous, that out of a control, is better off dead._ ”

“Agreed. Bobby, shoot Gerard,” Stiles ordered the hunter. “He just gave you permission.”

“Derek just tried to kill the kanima, tried to slash his throat,” Peter narrated his nephews actions. “But the kanima stopped him by shoving its claws into Derek's chest. You know, if anyone cares what’s going on.”

“The monster overpowered Derek? I’m shocked,” Stiles was certain all Derek’s fights progressed like that, with the alpha getting his ass royally kicked. “Is anyone helping?”

“No,” Peter shook his head. “They’re all too wide-eyed with shock to move.”

“Of course they are,” The kanima had attacked them all dozens of times over the last several weeks, yet somehow it was always a spectacle that needed to be gawked at. “Are either of you gonna help?”

“I would, but-- Oh my,” Peter flinched when Derek came flying past them, hitting the far wall with a sickening thud. “Perhaps he could benefit from some assistance.”

“Gee, you think?” Stiles resisted the urge to climb up the scaffolding to pop Peter upside the head. “Derek, you all right, dude?”

“I’m fine,” The alpha grunted. “I just need a minute.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Stiles would have been unconscious if he’d taken a hit like that. “You were kind of just thrown across a building.”

“ _Well, done to the last, Scott,_ ” Gerard applauded the omega. “ _Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek to save him. You didn’t realize you were bringing Derek to me._ ”

“Why does it sound like Gerard is thanking Scott?” Stiles asked quizzically. “Did I miss a double-cross?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, okay,” Stiles mumbled as the whiz of an arrow shooting through the warehouse caught his attention. “Oh, Allison’s here.”

“Yes, she is,” Peter cringed at the audible ‘plop’ of a body hitting the ground hard echoed around the building. “Isaac’s down, temporarily.”

“What are you two, sports commentators?” Derek squawked as he found his footing and stood.

“We are tonight,” Stiles offered the alpha a petulant grin. “Red Team’s captain Hale needs to get his head back in the game. You’re getting killed out there, bro.”

“ _Allison?_ ” Scott breathed out his girlfriends name, disbelief prominent in his tone.

“No, it’s Kate Argent: The Sequel,” Stiles mocked the omega. “ _’This time it’s personal.’_ ”

“Don’t even joke about Kate coming back,” Derek warned. “One resurrected psychopath is enough, thanks.”

“Rude,” Peter huffed, giving his nephew the cold shoulder. “Oh, looks like Christopher has elected to join us on this side of the warehouse-- and he’s bringing the kanima with him.”

“Oh joy,” Stiles side, giving in to curiosity and peering through the scaffolding just in time to see the kanima lob Chris across the room into a stack of wood pallets. “Ouch.”

“I didn’t know Chris could fly,” An amused smile spread across Peter’s lips. “Ooh, maybe we’ll get to see the kanima kill him next.”

“That’d be neat.”

Derek shifted, snarled, and jumped over a stack of pallets to join the brawl. Stiles turned his back on the foray once more, closing his eyes and trying to drown out the smacks, thumps, cracks, and bumps of the fight. He didn’t need to see the confrontation to know the wolves were losing, it was common sense when none of them were skilled fighters.

“Is that rifle just for show, Bobby?” Stiles questioned the hunter, who had yet to intervene. “You going to shoot the kanima before it kills someone?”

“It’s too fast,” Bobby complained. “I can’t get a clear shot without hitting someone else.”

“Then forget the kanima and get busy putting down the Argents,” Stiles advised. “They’re worse than 98% of the shit you hunt anyway.”

“I guess little Allison isn’t the only bloodthirsty one here,” Peter said approvingly. “She’s trying to slice and dice Isaac, and you want to fill her and her family full of holes.”

“Forgive me, oh murderous one,” Stiles sneered sardonically. “I’ve had a rough night.”

“I’m not judging,” Peter licked his lips. “I’m enjoying this side of you.”

“From anyone else, that might be a compliment,” Stiles commented, tipping his head back against the pallets. “From you, it’s coming off creepy and vaguely sexual.”

“Jesus,” Bobby blanched. “Can you both just stop talking, please?”

“ _No!_ ” Scott shouted. “ _Allison, no!_ ”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Bobby’s finger twitch on the trigger of the rifle-- an action that had Stiles searching for the target: Allison. The young huntress had twin knives raised and would have plunged them into the alpha laid out on the floor had the kanima not intervened. The lizard slithered up behind her, grabbing her by the wrists, forcing her to drop the blades before it wrapped one of its hands around her throat.

“ _Not yet, sweetheart,_ ” Gerard stalked out of the darkness. “ _We need Derek alive a tad bit longer._ ”

“ _What are you talking about?_ ” Allison looked to her grandfather for answers. “ _You said we would kill him._ ”

“ _He’s doing what he came here to do,_ ” Scott reported, scowling at Gerard. “ _I know what’s really going on._ ”

“ _It was the night outside the hospital, wasn’t it, when I threatened your mother,_ ” Gerard postulated, smirking at the omega. “ _I knew I saw something in your eyes. You could just smell it, couldn’t you?_ ”

“ _You’re dying,_ ” Isaac sniffed the air, scrunching up his nose like he’d smelt something rancid. “ _That’s what your scent means, right? You’re dying?_ ”

“Ooh, plot twist.”

“ _I am. I have been for a while,_ ” Gerard confessed. “ _Unfortunately, science doesn’t have a cure for cancer yet, but the supernatural does._ ”

“ _You monster,_ ” Chris spit at his father as the kanima tightened its hold on Allison. “ _You’d kill her too? Your own granddaughter?_ ”

“ _When it comes to survival, I’d kill my own son!_ ” Gerard roared, swiveling his head toward the omega. “ _Scott!_ ”

Scott shifted back to his human form and approached Derek. He hesitated, glancing from the alpha to Allison and back again, as if he was remembering why he was doing what Gerard wanted. The omega steeled himself, coming to terms with his decision, before sinking his claws into the nape of Derek’s neck and pulling him up to his knees.

“ _Scott, don’t,_ ” Derek pleaded with the younger wolf. _“You know he’s going to kill me right after. He’ll be an alpha._ ”

“ _I think he already knows that,_ ” Gerard affirmed, removing his jacket. “ _He knows that the ultimate prize is Allison. Do this small task for me, and they can be together. You are the only piece that doesn’t fit, Derek. And in case you haven’t learned yet, there’s no competing with young love.”_

“Oh, gag me.”

“ _Scott, don’t,_ ” Derek struggled uselessly against Scott’s hold. “ _Don’t._ ”

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” Scott apologized as he yanked Derek’s head back. “ _But I have to._ ”

“You gonna pull that trigger anytime today, Bobby?” Stiles asked, two seconds away from taking the gun for himself and firing off a few shots. “That’s your kid they’ve got.”

“Gerard won’t hurt Derek until he’s gotten the bite, but if we intervene, he’ll have the kanima kill the girl.” Bobby motioned toward Allison with the barrel of the gun. “She’s a little girl who’s been told a bucket of lies by her family. She doesn’t deserve to die for that. Now, when Gerard makes a move to take Derek out, then I’ll kill him.”

Gerard rolled up his shirt sleeve and stuck his forearm into Derek’s gaping mouth, forcing him to bite down. The hunter screamed as teeth penetrated his skin, shocking Derek into unlatching his jaw. Gerard clenched his fist, holding up his arm for the others to see, showing off his bite like a well-earned trophy.

“What the….” Peter gasped as Gerard’s wound began seeping black blood. “He’s rejecting the bite.”

“Good,” The last thing they needed was an Argent as a werewolf. “What does that mean exactly?”

“A bite rejection is lethal,” Peter explained, pursing his lips. “It’s a very slow and painful way to die.”

“Oh,” Stiles liked the sound of that, he liked it a lot. “Serves him right. Karma’s a bitch.”

“ _What? What is this?_ ” Gerard took in the discolored blood slipping down his arm. “ _Scott, what have you done?_ ”

“ _Everyone said you always had a plan, I had a plan too,_ ” Scott declared proudly. “ _Deaton helped me switch out your medication with capsules of mountain ash so the bite wouldn’t take._ ”

“They poisoned him,” Peter whistled, staring at Scott like he was seeing a whole new person. “Well, well, well, I didn’t think Scott had it in him to murder someone.”

“You’re assuming Deaton told him the bite would be fatal.”

“Deaton is a sneaky bastard.”

“ _No, no!”_ Gerard removed his pill case from his pocket, pouring them into his palm and crushing them in his fist. “ _MOUNTAIN ASH!_ ”

“Well, that settles it,” Stiles decided. “He’s officially a kooky cartoon villain.”

“ _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ” Derek questioned Scott as he dragged himself to his feet. “ _We were working together._ ”

“ _Because you might be an alpha, but you’re not mine,”_ Scott replied childishly. “ _I wasn’t working for or with anyone._ ”

“That’s a long-winded way to say ‘ _because fuck you, that’s why_ ’,” Stiles acknowledged. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”

“ _Kill them!_ _Kill them all!_ ” Gerard screamed, coughing up black bile before collapsing onto the ground.

Suddenly without a master to give it orders, the kanima released Allison. The huntress reacted immediately, elbowing the kanima in the nose, and was promptly knocked off her feet by the reptile in retaliation. Scott rushed to her side, pulling her up and out of the way just as the Camaro came barreling into the warehouse, running the kanima down.

“And Sam Winchester makes an unnecessarily flashy entrance to the game in the last quarter,” Stiles commented, spying Sam and Lydia through the windshield. “In captain Hale’s car no less.”

The kanima peeled himself off the hood, hissing at the vehicles occupants. Lydia bolted from the car, running straight to the creature. She unclasped the chain from around her neck, holding it up so the kanima could see the key dangling from it. Slowly, the lizard’s scales retreated, leaving Jackson’s purely human features in their place.

“Wow,” Stiles was honestly shocked it didn’t end in bloodshed. “That actually worked.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bobby put a halt on any premature celebrations, watching Jackson take the key from the redhead. “It’s never that simple.”

Jackson stepped away from Lydia, shifting his gaze to Derek and spreading his arms wide to welcome whatever the alpha had in store for him. Derek was on him in a second, shoving his claws into Jackson’s torso. Peter braced himself, ready to leap off the scaffolding and get his own licks in, but Bobby stopped him by abandoning his rifle in favor of reaching up to latch a hand around Peter’s belt.

“Uh-uh,” Bobby yanked Peter off his perch. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Derek kept Jackson impaled on his claws until he began gurgling blood, then he released him. Lydia shouldered past the alpha, wrapping Jackson in her arms to keep him upright.

“ _Do you?_ ” Jackson heaved, breath catching in his throat. “ _Do you still?_ ”

“ _I do,_ ” Lydia admitted tearfully. “ _I do still love you. I do._ ”

Jackson barely managed a nod before he crumpled to the ground. Lydia went with him, cradling his body in her arms. She held him close until the key slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground when his body went limp. She sobbed mournfully, laying his body out on the cement and turning her head away from it.

Stiles wasn’t so unsympathetic that he couldn’t see the tragedy of the situation. He wasn’t heartless. He was just objective enough to recognize the kanima’s ‘death’ only eliminated one of their problems, and the other had crawled away at some point.

“I don’t mean to interrupt this moment of sad reflection,” Stiles broke through the heavy silence and stepped out from behind the wooden pallets to stand beside Derek. “But, uh, Gerard’s gone. We should probably go find him.”

“Stiles, Jackson is dead,” Scott admonished him, gesturing pointedly to the corpse. “And it’s not like Gerard could have gone far.”

Stiles glanced around Scott to view Jackson’s body, noticing how his claws had changed shape and color, and his wound had healed. Most notably, however, was the rise and fall of his chest, how he was obviously taking in air, which shot the whole ‘dead’ thing in the foot.

“Yeah, he’s not dead.” Stiles said impassively, nudging the 'corpse' with his foot. “He’s completing his transformation.”

As soon as the words left Stiles mouth, Jackson’s claws began scraping over the concrete. The ‘deceased’ teenager slowly pulled himself off the ground, bathed in the light from the Camaro’s headlamps, his eyes glowing a brilliant blue.

“Told ya.”

* * *

 

Dean woke with a start, a shout lodged in his throat, a sheen of sweat coating his skin, and visions of a large, demonic beasts playing behind his lids. He fought to calm himself, reminding himself it was just a dream, a nightmare, nothing more. When he finally managed to pry his eyes open, he was greeted by a striking pair of blue orbs staring back at him.

“You okay?” Jax asked, carding his blunt nails over Dean’s scalp. “You were, uh, talking in your sleep, moving around a lot too.”

“I’m fine,” He played it cool, batting Jax’s hands away. “Just a bad dream.”

“What are hellhounds?” The blond questioned, head tipped to the side like a curious puppy. “You were mumbling about them, said they were chasing you.”

“Oh, uh, they, uh,” It was kind of hard to explain without giving too much away. “They serve hell. When someone makes a deal with a demon hellhounds come to collect their soul, drag it to hell.”

“Why would you be dreaming about something like that?”

“I guess they’re just on my mind,” Dean shrugged. “Bela made a deal, you know, and they would’ve come for her. I hated the bitch, but it’s still a brutal way to go.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Jax nodded, pushing the blankets off himself. “So its got nothing to do with what you’ve been keeping--”

“I thought you didn’t want to know?” Dean had been primed and ready to bare his soul the previous night, but was shot down before he got the chance. “You don’t want to ruin Abel’s homecoming, right?”

“Right, yeah,” Jax sighed, rolling out of bed. “You’d tell me if it was something I could help you with, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” At this point, there was nothing and no one that could help him. “It’s my problem, Jax, and it’s almost over with anyway. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Sure, okay,” Jax’s tone suggested he wasn’t buying what Dean was selling, but he’d drop it anyway.

“So what time do we have to pick up Abel?” Dean swiftly changed to subject. “Bright and early or anytime?”

“A little later in the morning,” Jax said, checking the time on the alarm clock. “I have to go to the clubhouse for church first.”

“You’ve got club shit to do _today_?” Dean would wonder what asshole decided that, but he already knew. “Clay knows Abel’s coming home today, doesn’t he?”

“I’m sure Mom wouldn’t shut up about it all night.” Jax grinned thinking about his mother’s excitement. “I should be done with club shit before it’s time to go get Abel.”

“Should be….” That wasn’t fucking good enough. “Jax, we talked about this, about you putting Abel first, before the club. Him coming home is a big deal, you need to be there.”

“I will be,” Jax vowed. “I’ll go to the clubhouse, see what’s going on, and then you and I will go pick Abel up.”

“What if Clay has more shit for you to do?”

“I’ll work around it.”

* * *

 

Crashing at the loft was easier than going home after the kanima/Argent stuff was handled. Home was currently in Charming anyway, and Stiles had no way of getting there since no one would give him a ride and he didn’t feel like calling his dad, asking to be picked up, and then having to explain his new bruises. No, it was easier to just curl up on the floor beneath the windows and sleep fitfully until morning.

Morning happened to arrive at the crack of dawn but rather than birds chirping or an alarm blaring, Stiles was rudely pulled from his restless slumber by a book being dropped to the floor next to his head.

“Get to work,” Sam ordered, dropping two more books beside the first. “We don’t have a lot of time left-- unless the Doc Benton case gave you something useful.”

“It didn’t,” Stiles yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pushing himself into a sitting position on the floor. “If it had, I would have told you last night.”

“Then we have to find something in the books,” Sam gestured wildly to the literature piled around the apartment. “We have to find something we missed. Dean’s deal is up at midnight.”

“I know, I know,” Stiles found it hard to believe they’d find some magical fix it in the books with the limited time frame, but he’d humor Sam anyway. “I’ll help you, I just need a minute to wake up.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Peter mumbled from the desk, where he and Derek were slouched over a stack of research. “He only let us power nap. You got to sleep in.”

“I’m honored,” Stiles grumbled, taking a book off the floor and studying the cover. “Hellhounds. Ugly mutts. Relatives of yours?”

“Eh, maybe.”

“I’ve got a way to find Lilith,” Bobby announced as he descended the spiral staircase. “So you can scrap the book learning, for now.”

In his hands, the elder hunter held a three-legged device with strange symbols etched into it, a large crystal at the top, and a sharp-tipped pendulum hanging from the middle.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” Stiles wasn’t trying to be an asshole, but they had less than twenty-four hours left to pull Dean’s ass out of the hell fire.

“It doesn’t matter how long we have left,” Sam snapped at him. “If it’s a way to save Dean, we’re going to do it.”

“He didn’t say it could save Dean,” Derek pointed out. “It’s just a way to find the demon.”

“Which will get us one step closer to saving Dean,” Sam argued, putting all his faith in a Hail Mary. “Just tell us what to do, Bobby.”

“Nothing, I’ve got this,” Bobby gesticulated with the device. “All I need is a map.”

“I have one,” Derek pulled a folded up map out of the bottom drawer of the desk. “It’s only the states.”

“Hopefully that’s all we’ll need,” Bobby muttered. “Unfold it up on the desk.”

Sam, refusing to take the time to clear the desktop carefully, swished his arm over it, sending papers and books cascading to the floor in a messy pile. Derek twitched, claws extending briefly as he laid out the map, all the while glaring daggers at the younger Winchester.

“So you need a name, that’s the whole kit and caboodle,” Bobby explained, placing the apparatus over the map. “With the right name, right ritual, ain’t nothing you can’t suss out.”

“Like the town Lilith’s in?”

“Kid, when I get done, we’ll know the street,” Bobby said confidently, patting Sam on the back. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”

Bobby began the ritual by chanting in Latin and giving the pendulum a good swing.

“You know, I think I’ve seen this on Charmed,” Peter mentioned, eyes following the pendulum as it swung over the map. “If I recall, those ladies didn’t need all these bells and whistles, just a crystal on a string.”

“Sometimes I think Bobby makes it appear more complicated than it is just to show off,” Stiles commented, earning a scowl from the hunter. “What? We all know it’s true.”

“It stopped,” Derek bent over the map to pinpoint the location. “New Harmony, Indiana.”

“All right,” Sam pushed the pendulum away and proceeded to fold up the map. “Let’s go get Dean and head out.”

“Whoa. Hold on,” Stiles put a hitch in Sam’s plan, because someone had to. “Even if you do find Lilith in Indiana, what good is that gonna do? You lost the Colt, you have no way to gank her. All you would accomplish is delivering Dean to her doorstep in a timely manner.”

“He’s right,” Bobby let Sam down gently. “We don’t even know if Lilith is really the one who hold’s Dean’s contract. We can’t trust Bela’s intel.”

“Well, Bela’s not the only one who’s told us about Lilith,” Sam blurted out. “That night at the station with Henriksen-- when Chief Unser was killed, Ruby told us those demons were sent by Lilith.”

“Who the hell is Ruby?” The name rang zero bells for Stiles. “Have I met her?”

“She was at the hospital, briefly, after the explosion at the station that night,” Sam revealed when Stiles would have crossed paths with her. “She’s someone who has been trying to help us save Dean. She helped Bobby fix the Colt...when we had it.”

“She’s also a demon,” Bobby remarked critically. “Don’t leave that part out.”

“She’s a surefire way to confirm it’s Lilith,” Sam countered. “And she’s got a bonafide demon-killing ginsu.”

“Okay, hold on,” Derek interjected, a perplexed expression on his face. “If your friend Ruby had a knife that could kill demons, why did you waste all that time looking for the Colt?”

“Good question, nephew.” Peter commended the alpha.

“We needed the Colt to kill Lilith,” Sam said curtly. “She’s the demon who holds Dean’s contract.”

“Yeah, that’s been mentioned-- several times,” Derek acknowledged. “But couldn’t you just use Ruby’s knife?”

“Lilith’s a demon. Ruby’s knife can kill demons,” It was perfectly sound logic to Stiles. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

“You and anyone else with half a brain,” Peter murmured under his breath.

“It’s not that simple,” Sam exclaimed woefully. “After all we’ve been through...it can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?” Derek asked.

“Oh, I know this one,” Stiles could write an entire dissertation on the answer. “Winchester logic.”

“Winchester logic...”

“Don’t try to understand it, it’ll only give you a headache,” Stiles often got migraines when trying to work through the Winchesters thought process. “It’s an incredibly debilitating handicap that only allocates them about 10% of shared brain power at any given time.”

“Stiles, you’re being an asshole,” Bobby chastised him. “And Sam, you’re not summoning Ruby, Dean wouldn’t like it.”

“Well, Dean’s not here,” Sam lifted his chin defiantly. “So I’m doing it.”

* * *

 

Church would be going longer than expected, Jax could tell by the tight frown on Clay’s face, the tense set of his shoulders.

“Our retainer with Rosen’s good for one more week,” Clay started, giving clarification to why the impromptu meeting had been called. “If this thing with Bobby Elvis goes to trial, we’re going to need some serious upfront cash.”

“I’ve gone over the books twice,” Juice said, having taken over handling the money since Bobby Elvis had been imprisoned. “We have every dime in the warehouse rebuild.”

“I know,” Clay sighed tiredly. “I talked to Alvarez. The Mayan’s want guns and they want them right away.”

“We ain’t got nothing to sell,” Jax hadn’t dealt with inventory since he was a prospect, but he knew that much. “Irish don’t start shipping till next month.”

“We pull our security surplus,” Clay suggested to the disbelief of his crew. “We sell them those.”

“I thought we didn’t sell that surplus.” Chibs remarked.

“We don’t,” Jax confirmed, casting a suspicious glance toward his Pres. “We’ve never done that.”

“We sell them those guns, it’s a good will gesture,” Clay explained. “Mayans turn around and place a big order, they give us half the cash in advance.”

“That leaves us nothing to protect the club.”

“Well, you know, I’m out of idea’s here, Jax,” Clay groused, nostrils flaring. “If we don’t jump on his deal, we lose it. I’m just trying to help Bobby Elvis.”

“I get that,” Jax was sympathetic to Bobby’s plight, he was, but Bobby Elvis wasn’t the only one with his ass on the line. “But ATF’s still camped out at Charming P.D. Do you really want to take that risk?”

“We can do this smart,” Clay claimed, doubling down on his plan. “We set up two locations in Oakland, right. We pick up the money from one, we drop off the guns at the other. This way, even if the feds are watching us, they never see guns for money.”

“Why would the fed still be tailing us?” Opie inquired.

“Maybe they got pissed off ‘cause you didn’t turn,” Clay mused dismissively. “Opie, you and Tig will pick up the money. Jax and me will drop off the guns.”

“I’ll go with Opie and Tig.” Piney volunteered to assist his son and club brother.

“No, the fewer the better.” Clay vetoed the old man’s idea-- a funny turn considering how often he complained Piney didn’t do enough for the club. “Why don't you just...go up to the warehouse, let me know how that’s going.”

“Some bullshit errand,” Piney scoffed, rising from the table as quickly as his old bones would allow. “I got stuff to do.”

“Yeah, I gotta go pick up the kid before I do any kind of drop,” Jax would be damned if he missed that because of club bullshit. “I’ll have Mom or Dean watch him so I can make the drop, but I gotta be there to pick him up.”

“Fine. Go.” Clay waved him off. “We could use something good today.”

* * *

 

After Sam put his foot down and decided to summon Ruby, the smart thing for Stiles to have done was skedaddle, but seeing as he was without a car and phone, that plan was a no-go. Instead, he found himself squished between Derek and Peter on the sofa, while Bobby stood guard beside it, and Sam drew a triangle in chalk on the floor.

“All right, so listen,” Stiles whispered to the Hale men. “Sam’s got his own idea of how this is going to go, but he’s not the brightest bulb, and Winchester plans always go to shit. Always.”

“I’m assuming you have something in mind,” Peter raised a brow. “If you want our help, you’ll have to share.”

“Dean needs the demon-killing knife,” There was no guarantees that it could save him, but it’d give him a fighting chance. “Regardless of whether this Ruby chick wants to help or not, she cannot leave here with that knife.”

“Dad painted a Devil’s Trap under the rug when I moved in,” Derek nodded to the area rug in the middle of the room. “We trap her there, then we disarm her.”

“We, as in the two of us,” Peter gestured between himself and Derek. “Not you, Stiles. We heal. She’d snap you like a twig.”

“You two tussle with the demon, I’ll sit here,” Stiles didn’t have to energy to engage with anyone physically anyway. “If Sam tries to stop you, I’ll distract him.”

“Deal.”

“ _Al construgendum ad ligandum eos pariter Et solvendum,_ ” Sam chanted as he placed a bowl in the middle of the triangle. “ _Et congregantum eos coram me._ ”

Sam took a box of matches off the floor and struck one, tossing it into the bowl and igniting whatever was inside of it. The flame flared up for only a moment before burning out.

“ _Hey Sam, how’s tricks?_ ” A female voice brought their attention to the desk, where a young blonde woman was sitting cross-legged on top of it. “ _FYI, phones work too._ ”

“ _How do you get around so fast?_ ” Sam asked, perturbed by her entrance.

“ _I got the Super Bowl jet pack,_ ” The woman joked, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “ _So, you called?_ ”

“Stiles,” Bobby leaned in to speak to him. “What kind of vibe are you getting here?”

“’Vibe?’”

“What’s your gut telling you about the people in this room?” Bobby simplified the question. “What kind of vibe do you get? Good? Bad? What?”

“Well, despite life choices, you, Sam, and Derek are...good, I guess. My _gut_ says good.” He wasn’t entirely sure why his intuition was relevant, but he’d play along. “Peter comes off a little sketchy, but I get worse vibes from certain club members, so I tend to ignore it.”

“All right, fine,” Bobby motioned subtly to Ruby. “What’re you getting from her?”

“The same thing I get when I’m around Clay,” Just looking at her made his skin crawl. “She’s bad. It’s not...I don’t think it’s because she’s a demon. It’s something else. Something dark. She’s bad, I can feel that.”

“Trust those instincts,” Bobby advised him. “Always trust your instincts when it comes to people.”

“Uh, okay.”

“ _Did you know about Dean’s deal?_ ” Sam interrogated the demon. “ _That Lilith holds the contract?_ ”

“ _Yes, I did,_ ” Ruby said unapologetically. “ _I didn’t tell you, because you weren’t ready._ ”

“ _For what?_ ”

“ _If I told you, you yahoos would have just charged after her half-cocked,_ ” Ruby must have known the Winchesters pretty well to come to that conclusion. “ _Lilith would have peeled the meat from your pretty faces._ ”

“How long are we gonna let this go on for?” Peter asked, flexing his claws. “We can just take care of her now.”

“Wait,” Bobby stopped Peter with a hand to his shoulder. “Sam can be persuasive when he needs to be.”

“ _Well, we’re ready now,_ ” Sam claimed, clenching his fists. “ _I want you knife._ ”

“ _You’re right about one thing, you are ready,_ ” Ruby agreed, hopping off the table. “ _And now’s the time, too. Lilith’s guard is down. She’s on shore-leave. A little R &R._”

“Wonder what a demon does to relax,” Stiles murmured to himself. “A little maim and murder, perhaps.”

“ _You still have those hex bags I gave you?_ ” Ruby paused, waiting for the hunter to nod, confirming he had them. “ _Good. Then she won’t see you coming._ ”

“ _So you’ll give us the knife?_ ”

“ _No,_ ” The demon shook her head. “ _You wanna charge in with a little pig-sticker? It’s a waste of a true-blue window. Like getting Hitler with an exploding briefcase. Forget it._ ”

“ _Okay,_ ” Sam huffed. “ _Then how?_ ”

“ _I know how to save your brother, Sam--_ ”

“ _No, you don’t! You told Dean you couldn’t!_ ” Sam yelled, his frustration mounting. “ _You’ve been lying to me all along, so just give me your damn knife!_ ”

“ _You’re not the one I’ve been lying to,_ ” Ruby circled Sam like a shark did prey. “ _I can’t save Dean, but you can._ ”

“And the demon comes in with a possible game-changing play,” Derek muttered before smacking himself on the forehead. “Crap. Now, I’m doing the commentary thing.”

“No, that was good,” Stiles patted the wolf’s knee. “Welcome to the broadcast team.”

“ _Sam, you’ve got some God-given talent,_ ” Ruby smirked. “ _Well, not God-given, but you get the gist._ ”

“ _All the psychic crap?_ ” Sam scoffed. “ _That’s been gone ever since Yellow-Eyes died._ ”

“Psychic?” Peter’s jaw dropped open as he turned his accusatory gaze Stiles way. “You didn’t tell us he was psychic.”

“Uh, I didn’t know,” Contrary to popular belief, Stiles wasn’t in on every Winchester family secret. “Bobby, you want to jump in here?”

“It’s a long story,” The older man skirted around an actual answer. “Not the time to get into right now.”

“ _Your power isn’t gone, Sam, it’s dormant. And it’s not just visions either,_ ” Ruby leered at Sam. “ _Why do you think Lilith is so scared of you? If you wanted, you could wipe her off the map without moving a muscle._ ”

“ _And you decided to tell me this just now?_ ”

“ _Um...demon. Manipulative is kind of in the job description,_ ” The woman quipped. “ _Fact is, is that you never would have considered it. Not until you were--_ ”

“ _Desperate enough?_ ”

“ _You don’t like being different. You hate the way Dean looks at you sometimes-- like you’re some kind of sideshow freak,_ ” Ruby had Sam pegged, that was for sure. “ _But suck it up, because we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and we’ve gotta do it fast to save your brother. I can show you how._ ”

“Okay, that’s it,” Stiles had heard enough bullshit from the demonic Yoda-wannabe. “Trap and disarm her, boys.”

“On it.” Derek and Peter said unison, leaping off the couch.

“Be honest,” Bobby stared down his nose judgmentally at Stiles. “You get a little kick out of ordering them around, don’t ya?”

“Kind of.”

* * *

 

Dean beat Jax to the kid when they got home from the hospital, practically hip-checking the other man out of the way to get to the baby first. He carefully lifted the infant from the car seat, cradling him close to his chest. He couldn’t help but smile at Jax’s pout as they made their way up to the driveway and into the house.

Gemma was up on a stepladder when they came in, hanging blue and white streams and balloons. She looked the closest thing to giddy as a person could get when she saw her grandson in Dean’s arms.

“Well, look at this handsome family,” She grinned vibrantly. “Home at last.”

“Yeah, finally,” Jax set the diaper bag on the couch. “Think the boy might need a nap before his big party tonight.”

“Speaking of the party, Jax, come over here and help me with this,” Gemma waved the ‘Welcome Home’ banner at him. “Need to get this done before the party.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Dean left them to their party preparations and shuffled down the hall with Abel to the nursery. The lights were off, but the curtains were drawn, allowing the room to illuminated in natural light.

“You could use a little sun after all that time in the hospital,” Dean murmured, moving to stand beside the window with the baby. “So, you don’t have the best view, but it’s better than nothing, I guess.”

Dean gazed at the snoozing child, wanting to say so much to him but only have a little time to do so.

“You’re gonna have a nice life here,” Dean had to believe that, he wouldn’t accept anything less. “You have a ton of people in your life that are gonna make sure of that.”

While Jax would be a single father, Dean was certain he would never have to parent Abel alone. Gemma and Stiles, those closest to them, would always be there to step in when and where it was needed, to fill the void left behind. Jax would never truly be on his own, even if he might think he was sometimes.

“Your dad, he’s, uh, he’s new at this, you know? So don’t give him a hard time,” He knew Jax would screw up along the way, all parents did, but he’d try his best. “He’s gonna be a really good dad, I promise you that.”

Jax’s relationship with his own father, or lack there of, was complicated. JT was an absentee dad, always running off to Belfast on club business. He died while they were in high school, yet everything Jax knew about him was told to him, given secondhand, posthumously. Dean hoped Jax would use that history to be better, to be for Abel what JT could never be for him or Thomas-- a real father.

“I wish I could...I wish I could be there to help,” Dean wanted nothing more than just a chance to stay with his family, both the one he was born with the one he had chosen for himself. “I wish I could be there for you, to watch you grow up.”

First steps, first words, first days of school. Music, cars, sports, dating. Life. There was so much Dean was going to miss.

“You know, just because I won’t be there doesn’t mean Uncle Sammy won’t be,” Abel could keep Sam grounded, give him purpose, a reason to keep his head on straight. “He’ll be here all the time. I’ll make sure of it.”

He wanted to promise Abel he’d be there too, in spirit, but seeing as his soul was headed for the pit come midnight, he didn’t think it was appropriate.

“You ever want to find me, kiddo, just slide into the driver seat of the Impala and load up one of my old cassettes,” All he had to do was tip his head back, inhale the scent of aged leather, and feel the rhythm of the music reverberate through the car. “You do that and I’ll be there.”

Maybe he couldn’t be there in spirit or body, but that car was apart of him he could leave behind. If Abel ever wanted to feel a connection with him, all he would have to do is call his Uncle Sammy and ask him to bring the Impala by.

“And who knows, maybe the Impala will be yours one day,” If Sam could keep it running and had no heirs, Abel would be the perfect person to leave Baby to. “You would like that, right? You want my baby when you’re older? It’s a hell of a car to learn to drive in, I’m telling you.”

“You learned a lot more in that car than just how to drive,” Jax snorted, joining them by the window. “I know, ‘cause I learned some of it with you.”

“Yeah, well, he’s too young to know about all that,” Dean chuckled, gently passing the baby over to the other man. “Didn’t want to mentally scar the kid just yet.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Jax laughed, settling into the rocking chair and staring lovingly at his son. “What’s up, little man? You happy to be home?”

Dean was overwhelmed by both happiness and sorrow as he watched Jax rock Abel, coo softly at him. It was a beautiful moment, one he wanted to take a snapshot of and keep with him forever, even if forever was just a few short hours. He wanted to ignore the deadline, the text messages telling him to get to Beacon Hills ‘cause they needed to leave soon. He wanted to ignore it all, but he couldn’t, not this time.

“Hey Jax,” Dean cleared his throat, swallowing the lump lodged in it. “I might be a little late for Abel’s party.”

“Okay,” Jax nodded, barely taking a second to pull his gaze off his son to meet Dean’s eyes. “You have something to do, that’s okay.”

“Bobby needs my help with something,” It was a simple cover story, one that wouldn’t raise too many questions. “I don't know how long I’ll be.”

“Okay,” Jax said again, his face the picture of serene as he glanced down at his son.

“I did everything I could, Jax. To stay here with you and Abel, I did everything,” He’d searched every book, called every contact, turned over every stone, but it was all useless. “It just wasn’t enough.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Jax let him off the hook so easily it made his heart clench. “We’ll see you when you get home.”

Well, that was it, wasn’t it? Home. This town, the house, that man and his child. They were home now, and Dean had to leave them whether he wanted to or not. He couldn’t walk away from them with a lie of ‘see ya later,’ they deserved more than that. He owed them what honesty he could bring himself to give.

“Goodbye, Jax.”

As he walked away, he peered briefly over his shoulder and could’ve sworn he saw Jax staring back at him, looking stricken with grief, like he knew Dean wouldn’t return this time. He shook off the thought and continued down the hall, stopping only when he came upon the Teller matriarch in the living room.

“Hey Gem,” He greeted her with a sad smile. “I’m heading out.”

“When will you be back?” Gemma asked, setting an unopened roll of streamers on the coffee table. “The parties in a couple hours--”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna make it,” He sniffled, trying to hardest to keep a rein on his emotions. “I think this is really it for me this time.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Dean said nothing, just wrapped his arms around the woman, pulling her close. It was more for his own comfort than hers, and she seemed to understand that as she brought her arms around him, holding him tight.

“What is it, sweetheart?” She murmured, rubbing a soothing hand over his back. “You can tell me.”

“Keep safe, okay? Take care of our boys,” He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, lingering in her embrace for as long as he could. “Bye, Gem.”

* * *

 

When Dean finally decided to show up at the loft, he was ticked off and demanding explanations for everything that had gone down in the last 24hrs that he wasn’t already privy too. He’d taken the Jackson/kanima death and resurrection in stride, as well as Peter’s, but had become downright irate when Ruby and Lilith were brought up.

“So let me get this straight,” Dean scowled, pacing the loft with his hands on his hips. “Instead of calling me _immediately_ after you located Lilith, you all decided to summon Ruby.”

“No, no,” Peter denied the charges. “Your brother decided to summon the demon, the rest of us were just innocent bystanders.”

“Bystanders up until the point where you attacked Ruby,” Dean remarked. “Whose bright idea was that?”

“Mine,” Stiles had come up with the plan, he’d gladly take the heat for it. “And it worked. They got Ruby’s knife, and with very little bloodshed involved.”

“It was dangerously stupid--”

“You’re dangerously stupid,” Stiles shot back without hesitation. “You weren’t here. We did it. It’s done. Get over it.”

“Okay, I’m gonna step in now and play Devil’s advocate,” Bobby pointedly placed himself between Dean and Stiles. “It was the right thing to do, Dean. We needed the knife and she wasn’t going to give it up willingly. Derek and Peter are the ones who tussled with her, and they’re already healed. Everyone is fine.”

“It was still a stupid risk,” Dean grumbled, but ultimately let it drop. “So where is Lilith hiding?”

“New Harmony, Indiana,” Sam said, hitching a bag of supplies over his shoulder. “We need to get going if we want to make it there...in time.”

“Yeah, all right. Let’s go.” Dean nodded, starting for the elevator. “I already got my stuff from Jax’s--”

“Did you tell him?” Stiles couldn’t imagine his brother not being there if he were aware of the situation. “Does he know why you’re gone?”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Dean confessed shamefully. “He’s too preoccupied to hear it today. You know, he’s been worried about you, hasn’t heard from you all day. And then, you know, there’s the whole Abel coming home today thing.”

“Abel’s home?”

“Yeah, he is,” Dean pursed his lips. “Jax really wanted you to be there, but you weren’t answering your phone.”

“I don't have my phone,” The Argents had dumped it somewhere along with his dad’s truck. “I’ll call him from Dad’s when I get back to Charming.”

“Yeah, you really should,” Dean advised him, stepping into the elevator alongside Sam and Bobby. “Well, I’m not one for long goodbyes, so let’s just get this over with.”

“Derek, hold back a minute,” Stiles stopped the alpha before he could join the others in the lift. “Look, man, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Yeah, I know, you need a ride home,” Derek took his car keys off the coffee table. “I’ll take you.”

“Peter can take me,” Stiles snatched the keys from the wolf’s hand before he could protest. “I need you to go with everyone else to New Harmony.”

“I don't think that’s a good idea,” Derek cast an uncertain glance to the elevator as the doors slid closed. “It’s a personal mission for them, a family thing. I’d only be an intruder.”

“If it goes bad, if they can’t defeat Lilith and Dean dies...Bobby’s gonna need you,” Bobby loved Dean like a son, losing him could very well break the old man. “Like it or not, you are their family, not just Bobby’s, but Sam and Dean’s too. You wouldn’t be intruding, you’d be offering emotional support.”

“Emotional support has never been my strong suit,” Derek mumbled sullenly. “And I’ve gotta go out and find Erica and Boyd before the Argents or some other hunter does.”

“Peter and Isaac can go look for them,” It might take some convincing but Stiles was sure he could get them on board with that. “Please, Derek. They need you to be there. _I_ need you to be there for them. Please.”

“Okay, fine.” Derek relented, albeit grudgingly. “I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” Stiles relaxed knowing the hunters would have someone looking out for them. “When it’s over, I need one of you to call me, not Jax. I’ll tell him. It’s gotta be me.”

“All right.”

“And, um, you need to bring Sam back with you, no matter what. Knock him out, tie him up, and lock him in the trunk if you have to, just bring him back,” Stiles knew Sam would let anger and revenge drive him if someone didn’t step in. “He can’t-- He can’t be out there on his own, not after losing his big brother. Bring him back.”

“I will.” Derek promised. “Do you want me to take him to Beacon Hills or to you--”

“To me,” Like with Jax, Stiles would have to keep Sam close until he was through the worst of it. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Jax couldn’t bring himself to stay at the house, playing happy home by himself. Club business was his escape, he still had a role to play in the exchange with the Mayans after all. He left his son in Gemma’s capable hands and fled to the clubhouse to help prepare for the deal.

“You think this is a bad idea,” Opie stated matter-of-factly as they loaded SAMCRO’s reserve stock into a pair of dufflebags.

“Yeah, I do,” Jax admitted, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that had been following him all day.

“Clay made a deal with the Mayans to make sure the war didn’t reach Charming.”

“It’s bigger than that,” Jax said, but didn’t elaborate. “Let’s just get this done.”

“Hey, no,” Opie refused to let it drop. “If you think I’m walking in to something….”

“Look at the last few months, man. Warehouse gets blown up. Mayans try to kill Clay. Bobby Elvis is in jail. We got ATF trying to stick RICO up our ass. How much longer you think this clubs got?” Jax could feel the weight of it all sitting on his shoulders, threatening not only to cripple him, but the entire club if they weren’t careful. “We’re better than this, man. My old man, he saw the nightmare coming. He was smart, Ope, way smarter than me. He had ideas about where to take the club, you know, legitimate ways to earn. He knew SAMCRO’s gotta change to survive.”

“Clay will never walk away from running guns.”

“I know,” Jax had come to terms with that already. “He’s made that very clear.”

“Well, a few more years, he wont be able to turn the throttle,” Opie acknowledged as he zipped up the bags. “You’ll be number one.”

“And Bobby and Tig? Pushing them in a new direction?” Jax would have better luck nailing Jell-O to the wall. “Jesus Christ. Two unmovable objects.”

“Irresistible force,” Opie smirked. “It could happen.”

“Hey Opie,” Juice stuck his head into the room from the hall. “Donna’s here.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Probably best not to greet her two bags of guns,” Jax joked, taking the bags from his friends.

“You’re probably right,” Opie chuckled mirthlessly, shouldering past Jax out of the room to go meet his wife.

“Hey Juice, you hear from Stiles today?” Jax asked the younger Son. “I’ve been calling, he doesn’t answer.”

“Not since he dropped me off last night,” Juice said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I can try to track him down for you.”

“Get Piney and Donna on that too, huh?” Jax normally didn’t send out a search party, but his brother’s absence was troubling and out of character. “It’s not like Stiles to go off the grid like this.”

“We’ll find him.”

* * *

 

When John had runaway from Charming at seventeen, shortly after burying his father, he hadn’t taken much with him. He’d packed a suitcase full of clothes, a select few family photos, and left the rest behind. At the time, he’d convinced himself it was because he could only take what he could carry, but he knew better now. The truth was, the emotional burden attached to the keepsakes was far too heavy for him to have managed at the time. Even now, after all the time that had past, seeing the memories of his childhood frozen in time was almost too much for him to bear.

There were faded markings of a growth chart on the wall of the pantry that ended abruptly in two spots where they should have continued for years. In his old bedroom was a small closet he used to crawl into with his baby brother to hide from their mother’s violent temper. His brother’s nursery was still completely intact, having been shut up long before the rest of the house had. The couch in the living room was the same one John had been lounging on when the deputies had come up the porch to tell him his father had been killed in the line of duty.

His family home was like a tomb, sealed tight, cut off from the rest of world for decades, and John wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

“Christ,” Piney whistled as he and Donna let themselves in through the front door. “This place is like a time capsule.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s….” It might as well have been John’s own personal Pandora’s Box. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“You okay?” Donna asked, features softening. “I mean….”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” He mustered up a smile, hoping to put them at ease. “Did Stiles send you to check up on me?”

“Actually, Jax sent us to check on Stiles,” Piney replied. “He hasn’t been able to reach him. He’s worried.”

“I got a call from him a little while ago,” His son had called from a number John didn’t know, saying he’d lost his phone in the woods some place. “He’s on his way home now, should be here any minute.”

“We’ll wait for him, if you don’t mind,” Donna said, eyes roving over the contents of the room. “Since you’re cleaning up, does that mean you and Stiles are going to stay in Charming permanently?”

“Oh, I’m still not completely sure,” It a big decision, and an increasingly complicated one. “Beacon County called to inform me my suspension’s been lifted.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if it’s because they think I deserve it or because they no longer have a qualified replacement,” While he and Stiles had been cleared of any wrongdoing, it didn’t mean the county trusted him to keep it safe. “There was another attack on the station the other night, more deputies were killed.”

“Jesus.”

“Beacon Hills has proven too dangerous for some of the recent hires, most of them have quit. At this point it’s me, Graemes, and a one or two kids straight out of the academy,” He couldn’t very well leave Graemes on her own with children who couldn’t find their asses with both hands. “We’ve gotta go back, at least for a little while, until I can get the department up and running again. And you know, it’s probably not a good idea to pull Stiles out of school. He’s in line to graduate early if he keeps his grades up. Once he’s done, we’ll close our chapter on Beacon Hills.”

“If you both survive that long,” Piney muttered grimly. “Dangerous times in Beacon Hills.”

“Charming won’t be making it onto any ‘safest places to live’ lists, either.”

The squeal of rusty hinges on the screen door signaled Stiles arrival. The teenager hobbled in sluggishly, hunched over, head bowed as if trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his battered face. A familiar man trailed close behind his son, but John ignored his presence momentarily to focus on the state of his son.

“My god,” He cupped Stiles face in his hands, inspecting the patches of purple, black, and red marring the pale skin of his cheeks and jaw, along with the scabbed over cut on his throat surrounded by a stain of dried blood. “What happened to you? Who did this?”

“It doesn’t matter-- Ow!” Stiles winced when John pressed a finger to cut on his neck. “I’m fine, Dad, I promise.”

“The Argents kidnapped him, held him in their basement, and did all this,” Peter said of Stiles injuries. “He got away, though, all on his own.”

“None of it was even about me,” Stiles deflated, sagging in his father’s hold. “Gerard grabbed me on my way to Derek’s. He knocked me around a little when I got snarky. Chris did the rest. If I’m being totally honest, I might’ve deserved some it, I said some things--”

“I don’t care what you said, you didn’t deserve any of this,” John would spend the whole night convincing his son of that if he had to. “We’re going to talk about the more, but first...why is a dead werewolf in the living room?”

“Previously dead. I’m much better now,” Peter tutted, puffing out his chest. “But to answer your question, I gave him a ride home.”

“So, you remember when I called earlier and told you I lost my phone? Well, I lost your truck, too,” Stiles confessed apologetically. “Gerard had it dumped somewhere.”

“I don’t care about the truck, Stiles,” The truck was insured. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles offered him a weak smile. “Just a little banged up.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” There was no worse feeling in the world than seeing your child hurt. “These wounds don’t even look like they’ve been cleaned out.”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Stiles sniveled, wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve. “There was a lot going on last night, and this morning.”

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, baby. We don’t want any of them to get infected.” Donna took Stiles hand in hers, urging him to follow her. “First aid kit in the bathroom, John?”

“Yeah, next to the sink.” He’d put one in there when they’d first returned to the house.

“Well, I’ve done my duty and delivered Stiles to you,” Peter patted himself on the back for his good deed. “I’ll be going now.”

“I think I’ll go out for a smoke,” Piney decided, gaze locked on the wolf’s retreating form. “Maybe I’ll have a chat with Stiles little friend before he leaves.”

“I know what you’re going to do, Piney,” John could see it written all over his face. The cop in him wanted to stop the outlaw, but the father in him was more than willing to let him wreak havoc. The father side of him won out. “You’ve always felt like you had to look out for us out of some deep-rooted loyalty to my dad. I appreciate that, I really do.”

“But?”

“But I made Chris Argent a promise,” It was a vow of vengeance if any harm were to befall Stiles by the Argents hand. “A promise I intend to keep.”

“I understand.”

* * *

 

“Hold it right there, zombie-wolf,” Piney called out to the wolf crossing the front lawn. “You’re going to do something for me.”

“Is that right?” Peter stopped in his tracks, turning a grin on the outlaw. “And what would that be?”

“You’re gonna help me find the old man.”

“Gerard,” Peter guessed, as if there were any other options. “What do you want with him?”

“What do you think?” After what Gerard and his son had done to Stiles, they were lucky if Piney didn’t bring the entire club with him to exact revenge. “He hurt a member of my family trying to get to yours. I’m not gonna let that happen again.”

“Oh, he’s not much of a threat anymore,” Peter said confidently. “He’s pretty much dead already.”

“ _Pretty much_ ain’t good enough.”

“No, it’s not,” Peter agreed. “What about Christopher? Does the grieving widow get a pass?”

“No,” No one got a pass, only a different executioner. “He’s been promised to someone else.”

“I wonder who that might be,” A pleased smiled spread across Peter’s face. “All right. Give me your number. I’ll call you when I have a location.”

* * *

 

Donna ushered Stiles to the small bathroom at the end of the hall, nudging him until he sat on the closed lid of the toilet.

“You want to talk about it?” She asked, taking a cotton-ball from the first aid kit and soaking it in peroxide.

“Not really.”

“Well, we’re probably going to be in here for a while,” Donna noted, dabbing the cotton-ball over the cut on his cheek. “So we’ve gotta talk about something.”

“Okay,” There was something that’d been on his mind. “I told Juice.”

“You told Juice what?”

“About Aunt Sloan, about what she did to me,” Stiles admitted, staring up at Donna through his lashes. “Probably said more than I needed to.”

“What brought that on?” She inquired, tending to the scrape on his face. “Did something happen?”

“He saw me without a shirt on,” He was still kicking himself for being reckless where he was usually so careful. “He got a good look at my scars for the first time since that summer. He asked me how I really got them, pointed out the car accident didn’t explain them all. So I told him everything-- well, almost everything.”

“That couldn’t have been easy for you,” Donna acknowledged thoughtfully. “It takes a lot of trust to tell someone that kind of truth.”

“Yeah, it does,” Juice was only the fourth person Stiles had ever shared that secret with. “Something is...changing with me and Juice. It feels like something is changing between us. It’s easier to tell him things I wouldn’t tell most others.”

“Well, I’m not really surprised,” Donna said, a small grin on her lips. “Juice was still such a kid when he showed up in Charming, and you were still a little kid yourself then. You both grew up together, grew together.”

“Yeah, we did.” Together they’d navigated Charming and SAMCRO, learned their separate places within them.

“You know, there’s something I’ve always wondered,” Donna mentioned, tilting his chin up to get better access to his wounds. “Why’d you tell me? Back then, I mean. Why did you tell me about Sloan?”

“I trusted you not to go off the rails or tell anyone that didn’t already know,” He needed that, then, to know his secret would be kept and that no blood would be spilt in his name. “And I was...afraid. For reasons that feel irrational now, I was afraid I’d be afraid of you, because of her. I didn’t want to flinch when you hugged me and make you think it was something you did.”

“I tried to be there for you the best I could, but it was hard to know what to do,” She caressed a thumb around the skin of his black-eye. “You were so sad, so scared. But, you know, you still got up every morning, still kept going, even when it seemed like you didn’t want to.”

“In some way, I was more afraid when it was over than when it was happening,” It was always something he was scared to admit because he didn’t think anyone would understand. “When it was happening, I knew what to expect from her, and it was a secret. I was getting hurt because I wasn’t strong enough to tell.”

“Stiles, that’s not….” Donna sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing she did to you was your fault.”

“When it was over and she was gone and people knew – you, Dad, Piney, that’s when I was terrified,” There were still moments, sometimes, when a chill would roll up his spine and that terror would return. “Because, what if she came back and hurt one of you to get to me? Or what if she didn’t have to? What if she could just hurt me again and no one could stop her?”

“If she hurt you again, after we knew, it meant no one could protect you,” Donna murmured softly. “That we couldn’t protect you.”

“I always believed if I told anyone what she was doing to me, that I’d be safe,” It’s why he’d tried on more than one occasion to break free from Sloan’s hold, but she’d always found a way to stop him. “But what if I was wrong? What if she was too strong? I’d never be safe. I’d always be hers.”

“You are not hers. You were never hers,” Donna said firmly. “What she took from you...we couldn’t get that back, and I’m so sorry. But you are safe, baby. You’re safe from her. She can never hurt you again.”

“I know,” It had taken a long time for that to sink in, but eventually it had. “And I thought...I thought I was stronger now. I thought the things she did to me didn’t matter anymore, they couldn’t mess with my head anymore, but last night with the Argents...”

“What?”

“Chris had this knife, he didn’t use it to do more than threaten, but suddenly I was that scared kid again,” Stiles had tried to ignore the feelings it brought up, tried to push them out of his mind, but so far it was a useless endeavor. “A part of me still thought ‘submit, let it happen, it’ll be over quicker’, ‘cause that’s what I used to tell myself when I was with her.”

“Stiles--”

“He reminds me of her, you know?” Up until last night, he hadn’t been able to put a finger on what it was about Chris that set him on edge. “She didn’t believe she was evil either. She thought she loved me, that I loved her, that we were in love.”

“That wasn’t love, Stiles.”

“Chris thinks of himself and his family as heroes fighting nobly.” He supposed most villains thought they were on the right side of things. “In reality, they’re just monsters hurting the innocent.”

* * *

 

The separate drops for the Mayans were meant to be simple, but of course things with SAMCRO never went the way they were supposed to. Jax and Clay’s gun drop went according to plan, no slip-ups or fireworks. Opie and Tig’s money drop, however, had ended with the pair being ambushed and nearly killed. Needless to say, there were a lot of questions and accusations being flung around when they all met back up at the clubhouse.

“Was this a mistake or was Laroy sending a message?” Opie asked, body still tense and on-guard from the attack.

“I don’t know.” Clay admitted with a shrug.

“This could a worse case scenario,” Jax hated to think it was true, but they couldn’t ignore it. “Niners want us dead. Mayans won’t trust us. We’ll lose our customer base. Get in two huge beefs.”

“Broke with no guns.” Opie mumbled as Jax’s cellphone began to ring. “Is that the kid?”

“Nah, his dad,” Jax said, seeing John’s name flash across the caller I.D. before he answered it. “Hey, did you find Stiles?”

“ _It’s me,_ ” His little brother’s timid voice flitted over the line. “ _Dad said you’ve been trying to get a hold of me._ ”

“Yeah, since like yesterday,” He was pissed as fuck about the unsolicited silent treatment, but also relieved to finally know his brother was all right. “Where you been? Why are you calling from your dad’s phone?”

“ _I lost my phone and Dad’s truck when I went to Beacon Hills to check on things last night. It was late, so I just crashed at the loft,_ ” Stiles offered him the cliff notes version of his night “ _Derek’s uncle Peter gave me a ride back to Charming this afternoon._ ”

“Derek’s uncle Peter gave you a ride….” Jax could have sworn they’d both watched Bobby put a bullet in Peter’s head months ago. “Uh, isn’t he the alpha Derek’s dad capped?”

“ _Yep,_ ” Right, well, that cleared things up. “ _Death didn’t agree with him._ ”

“I guess not,” That left Jax with more questions than answers, but he wasn’t going to pry. “Uh, anyway. I was trying to call you because Abel came home today.”

“ _I know,”_ Stiles mumbled. _“Dean told me when I saw him.”_

“Yeah, well, I wanted you to be there when I picked him up, brought him home,” It was a huge milestone that his brother had missed. “He’s at the house with Mom. She’s setting up for his party, you should head over there and help out.”

“ _Yeah, no, listen, Jax, I, uh, I don't think I’m going to make it to the party,_ ” Stiles said remorsefully. “ _I’m not feeling well._ ”

“No, Stiles,” The was un-fucking-acceptable. “This is a huge deal. You have to be there. Come on, kid. It’s Abel. We’ve been waiting months for this.”

“ _I’m not very good company right now, Jackson. I don’t want to be around everyone,_ ” Stiles murmured, sounding a million miles away. “ _I’ll come by late, once everyone else has left, okay?_ ”

“No, not okay.” Jax griped. “But fine, I guess.”

“ _I’m sorry, Jax._ ”

“I know, buddy.”

* * *

 

Aside from some heavy talk and an impromptu rendition of Bon Jovi’s ‘Dead or Alive,’ the trip of New Harmony was pretty much business as usual. That was until they turned off onto a seemingly deserted back road and were promptly greeted by police sirens.

“We’re being pulled over?” Sam furrowed his brows, staring into the rear-view mirror.

“I’ve got a busted tail-light,” Dean sighed, steering the Impala to the side of the road. “It’s not like we’re in a hurry or anything.”

“That’s not funny, Dean.” Sam glowered. “And Bobby’s not behind us anymore.”

“Must’ve pulled off when he saw the cruiser,” Dean theorized as he rolled the window down to address the approaching deputy. “Problem, officer?”

“License and registration, please.” The officer extended his hand for the requested documents. “Do you realize you’ve got a tail-light out?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean glanced up at the officer and was caught off guard by his grotesque, distorted face that laid just beneath the human surface. “Uh, you know, I’ve been meaning to take care of that.”

Dean couldn’t warn Sam without alerting the officer, so he just acted on impulse, flinging the car door open, slamming it against the officer’s legs.

“Dean!” Sam shrieked at the act of aggression

Dean ignored his brother, bolting out of the car to make a run at the officer. He punched the man once, twice, and a third time to keep him off balance, then took Ruby’s knife from his pocket and jammed it into the man’s throat, watching his face flash like it’d been electrocuted.

“What the hell happened?” Bobby questioned as he and Derek jogged up the road. “What’s going on?”

“Dean just killed a demon,” Sam declared, voice filled with astonishment. “Dean, how did you know?”

“I just knew,” Dean said, yanking the knife from the demon’s throat and letting its body drop to the ground. “I could see its face. It’s real face under that one.”

“You can see demons?” Derek asked, scrutinizing the hunter. “Is that...normal? For you, I mean.”

“No,” If demon-spotting was an ability Dean had been born with, his job would have been a hell of a lot simpler. “I’ve seen all kinds of things lately, but nothing like this.”

“Actually, it’s not all that crazy when you’ve got, what, under two-hours to go,” Bobby surmised. “You’re piercing the veil, Dean. You’re glimpsing the B side.”

“A little less new age-y, please.”

“You’re almost hell’s bitch,” Bobby dumbed it down for him. “So, you can see all hell’s other bitches.”

Derek covered his mouth to stifle a snort, earning a sharp look from the hunters.

“Oh, this is funny to you?” Dean had half a mind to give the kid the finger. “You wanna know what you look like under that human mask?”

“A wolf,” Derek deadpanned, shrugging his shoulders. “Just a guess.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, actually, this could come in handy,” Sam mentioned pragmatically. “Being able to see demons, that’s a big deal.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad my doomed soul is good for something.” Dean snarked.

“Damn right it is,” Bobby concurred. “Lilith’s probably got demons stashed all over town. We can’t let them sound the alarm. If she knows we’re there, we’re dead before we start.”

“Well, this is a great plan,” Dean wiped the blood from Ruby’s knife and slid it back into his pocket. “I’m excited to be apart of it.”

“I’m not.” Derek made his feelings on the matter known. “Just to be clear.”

“I appreciate the support, buddy,” Dean clapped the wolf on the back. “Can we go, please?”

“We gotta get rid of the body and cop car first.”

“Well, there’s always something, isn’t there?”

* * *

 

Stiles shut himself away in one of the bedrooms after Donna fixed him up. He distracted himself by plopping down on the floor and idly flipped through an old Charming High yearbook he’d found on the bookshelf. That was where he was when his dad came looking for him.

“Hey kiddo,” His father spoke softly, like he was afraid he might spook him. “I made dinner. It’s that chicken soup you like. I even used the heart-smart recipe.”

“I’m not hungry,” The mere thought of eating made his stomach roll. “Thanks, though.”

“You know, this used to be my room,” His dad said nostalgically. “The bed was pretty comfortable, from what I remember. You might feel better there than on the floor.”

“Yeah, I thought about lying down, but then I saw the Lynda Carter poster on the ceiling,” Stiles gestured to the faded poster taped above the bed. “Then I thought ‘ _no, better not’_ , ‘cause there is only one reason to tape _Wonder Woman_ over your bed.”

“Hey, I changed the bedding when we first got here,” His dad blushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “And, really, can you blame me? It’s Wonder Woman.”

“Yeah, you have a type,” Stiles laughed. “Strong, dark-haired women who could definitely kick your ass.”

“Can’t deny that,” The older man smiled, sitting down beside Stiles on the floor. “What’d you got there?”

“One of your old yearbooks,” From the date on the cover, Stiles would say it was probably from his dad’s senior year. “No one signed it.”

“I was long gone by the time that would’ve been sent out,” He admitted somberly. “Aunt Hetty probably left it in here when she came check on the house.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey,” His dad reached out to cup his cheek with a calloused hand. “You okay, son?”

“Yeah,” Stiles lifted a hand, wrapping his fingers around his dad’s wrist, squeezing it comfortingly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“It’s okay not to be,” His father caressed his cheek with a thumb. “You don’t always have to be okay if you’re not.”

“I know,” It was just easier to pretend like he wasn’t on the verge of imploding. “There’s just..a lot going on and more just keeps getting added to it, and I don’t…. It’s burying us and I don’t know how to dig out.”

“Let me help,” His dad attempted to coax him into opening up. “If there’s something you need to say, but you’re scared to, you can tell me. If there’s an injury you didn’t feel comfortable showing Donna or telling her about, I’m right here.”

“What are you….” Stiles knew what his dad was getting at, but he didn’t fully understand why. “Did Donna tell you I told Juice about Aunt Sloan? ‘Cause, you know, that had nothing to do with what happened with the Argents.”

“Donna didn’t tell me anything,” His dad assured him. “It’s your arms, Stiles.”

“My arms?” Stiles looked down at his arms, finding matching bands of bruises stretched across the width of them, peeking out from his shirt sleeves, a sure sign that he’d been forcibly restrained. “Oh, no, that’s not-- Those are from the case Juice and I were on, the Doc Benton thing. He caught us and tied us down on a makeshift operating table.”

“Why did he do that?”

“I assume so we wouldn’t move while he operated on us,” That was just an educated guess. “I don’t know what he wanted from me, but he wanted to carve out Juice’s eyes for himself. He would’ve had them too if Dean hadn’t shown up when he did.”

“Thank god for Dean’s good timing,” His dad murmured, dropping his hand away from Stiles face. “Well, if you’re not ready to talk about what happened last night, we could talk about Abel’s party.”

“Dad...”

“You’ve been waiting for this day for a long time, buddy.”

“I told Jax I would be there later, when the party was over,” There was less chance of his presence causing a scene that way. “If I go in there looking like this, all beat up, Jax is gonna freak and start planning retaliation. He needs to be focused on Abel. At least if I show up late, anyone who would support his half-baked revenge plan will be gone and I’ll have a chance to talk him down.”

“Sound like you’ve thought this through.”

“Of course I have,” It’s not like he actually waned to miss his nephews homecoming. “Things are going to be bad enough with Dean gone, we don’t need Jax waging a war with the Argents too.”

“They need to be held accountable for the things they’ve done, Stiles, but I agree Jax should stay out of it.” His dad acknowledged as a knock at the front door echoed through the house. “You know that’s probably him right now, bringing Abel to you since you won’t go to Abel.”

“I would not doubt it.”

They climbed to their feet and made their way to the front door, surprised to find that it wasn’t Jax waiting impatiently with a baby in his arms, but Charming’s interim chief of police.

“Chief Hale,” Stiles father greeted the man courteously. “What can we do for you?”

“I’ve got some information,” Hale mentioned, eyes flickering between the Stilinskis anxiously. “And if I give it to you, then I’m betraying my badge. And if I don’t, someone could get hurt.”

“Well, luckily for you, that badge is cheap tin not real silver,” Stiles thumped the badge pinned to Hale’s chest. “And it’s already tarnished from all the years you worked for Unser. So why don't you just spit it out, tell us what’s weighing on your conscience.”

“Clay came down to the station this morning,” Hale revealed. “He was raising hell about Stahl and her investigation.”

“It’s an intimidation tactic.” Unfortunately, the technique tipped Clay’s hand-- if there was nothing for Stahl or her agents to find, Clay would have no reason to resort to intimidation. “He’s playing right into her hand. You should be on cloud nine right now.”

“Normally, I would be,” Hale confessed. “But Clay, the club, they might be relying on manufactured information to make certain decisions.”

“Is this about Stahl and Opie?” Stilinski cut in. “Because I told Juice that Stahl would try to paint Opie as a rat to cause chaos within the club.”

“It doesn’t matter what Stahl _says_ ,” Stiles snapped. “For the club to believe someone was a rat they’d want proof, physical proof.”

“When Opie refused to cooperate with the investigation, Stahl planted bugs in his truck and cellphone,” Hale revealed, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “The one in his truck is still active, but the one in his phone is offline.”

“They found it,” It was customary for the club to sweep for listening devices before church. “Jesus Christ.”

“Why are you tell us this?” The elder Stilinski questioned Hale’s motives. “You’ve been backing all of Stahl’s plays. What changed?”

“When I took the oath to protect and serve, I did so without bias,” Hale claimed as if the oath actually meant something to him. “Opie may not be innocent in all this, but that doesn’t mean I want him to get hurt.”

“Clay’s show at the station this morning wasn’t intimidation. It was desperation,” Stiles had had it all wrong. “He thinks ones of his brothers has turned on him. The walls are closing in. He’s going to do anything he has to do to save his own ass, and he’ll do it soon. We gotta get to Opie before he does.”

“Guess we’re going to that party after all,” His dad concluded, checking the time on his watch. “These kinds of things don’t usually last long. It might be over by now.”

“Opie will linger,” Outside of Gemma, the Winstons would probably be the last to leave. “We might be about to catch him, to warn him.”

* * *

 

Once in New Harmony, they managed to narrow down Lilith’s location to a single block. They’d parked their cars at the corner and took to the street on foot, hoping to pin the location down to a specific house. They used the shrubs for cover and looked into the windows of homes through a set of binoculars, eventually finding the demon surrounded by family, eating a piece of cake, in a house with a ‘for sale’ sign on the lawn.

“It’s the little girl,” Dean cringed, lowering the binoculars. “Her face is awful.”

“All right, let’s go,” Sam was revved up, ready to fight whoever and whatever he had to if it meant saving his brother. “We’re wasting time out here.”

“Uh, isn’t this where you come up with a plan?” Derek questioned. “Busting into the house and hoping for the best is a good way to get us all killed.”

“He’s right. Now, look, you see that real go-getter mailman sorting mail in the middle of the night? Or Mr. Rogers next door,” Dean handed the binoculars to his brother so he could see for himself what they were up against. “Demons. They’re all demons.”

“Okay. Fine.” Sam sighed, dropping the binoculars into the supply bag at his feet. “We can ninja past those guys, sneak in--”

“Then what?” Dean pressed his brother. “Give a ‘Colombian neck-tie’ to a ten-year old girl? Come on!”

“I’m not helping you kill a kid,” Derek wasn’t the most moral of people, but there were certain lines he refused to cross. “Demon or not, that’s still a little kid in there, right?”

“Look, I know it’s awful,” Sam recognized it was terrible, but he didn’t shy away from it. “But this isn’t just about saving Dean. It’s about saving everybody.”

“She’s gotta be stopped, son,” Bobby sided with Sam. “It’s gotta be done.”

“Oh, damn it,” Dean relented after a moment of contemplation, flashing an apologetic look in Derek’s direction. “They’re right. It sucks and it feels wrong, but they are right. We can’t let Lilith get away, and if that means that little girl has to die...”

“The good of the many outweigh the good of the one.” Derek grumbled, face hardening. “Does telling yourselves that really help you sleep at night?”

“No,” Bobby wouldn’t gloss it up for his son, he wouldn’t lie. “And if we’re doing this, it might be more than the little girl dying tonight. We can’t let any of the demons hanging around tell her about the plan.”

“So you’re gonna butcher the entire cul-de-sac.”

“No, we’re not,” Dean drew his own line at mass murder. “We just gotta keep them away from the house.”

“I might have an idea,” Bobby knelt down to take a rosary from the supply bag. “Just need access to the water supply for the sprinkler system.”

“I think I saw an opening for the water pipes at the side of the house,” Sam said, peering over the shrubs. “Yeah, come on, let’s go.”

“Derek and I will be over in a minute,” Dean motioned for the wolf to stay put. “You guys go ahead. Be careful.”

“Yeah, will do.” Sam took Ruby’s knife from Dean’s belt before he and Bobby snuck their way toward the house Lilith occupied.

“What’s going on, Dean?” Derek asked, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“If this goes bad, if I don’t make it, I need you to look out for Sammy,” It was a request he should have made weeks ago, but until recently he still had a small sliver of hope that he could be saved. “He’s gonna need you. You lost your sister, you understand what he’s going through.”

“Dean,” Derek cleared his throat awkwardly, unprepared for the turn in conversation. “I don’t, uh, I don’t...”

“You know, when he was at Stanford, Dad and I would go check on him, make sure he was safe. We never told him we were coming, but he always knew we were there. He knew he wasn’t really alone.” Giving Sam that sense of security was important to Dean and his father. “It’s different now. I can’t leave him alone. You have to look out for him. I need you to do that for me.”

“I’ll try.”

“He won’t make it easy for you.” Dean’s little brother was as stubborn as they came. “You just...just do what you can.”

“Okay,” Derek nodded, accepting his new duties. “Stiles already talked to me about this, sort of.”

“I’m sure he did,” Dean could always count on Stiles to be prepared for the worst. “But I needed to say it. I needed you to hear it from me.”

“I get it,” Derek said, glancing over the bushes in the direction his father and Sam had gone. “Does looking out for him include keeping his demon girlfriend from getting too close? ‘Cause, uh, she’s over there with him right now.”

“What?” Dean followed the wolf’s line of sight to see Ruby in the middle of a heated argument with his brother. “Probably wants her knife back, huh?”

“He’s not giving it up.”

“Yeah, well, they’re gonna have to have their lovers quarrel some other time,” Dean remarked, realizing they’d been spotted by Mr. Rogers and the mailman. “We’ve lost the element of surprise.”

“Hope Dad got that water blessed,” Derek cracked his neck, shifting into his wolf form. “Holy water sprinklers would come in handy right about now.”

“Yep.”

* * *

 

A homecoming bash for a baby wasn’t exactly what anyone would call exciting once everyone had a chance to hold the kid, so Jax wasn’t surprised or offended when things started dying down early.

“Hey man,” Opie knocked their shoulders together. “We’re gonna head out. Gotta get the kids to bed.”

“Yeah, all right,” Jax set his beer on the table and stood to give the bigger man a hug. “Thanks for coming.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Donna grinned, kissing his cheek. “Hey, don’t go too hard on baby brother when he shows up. He really wanted to be here, but, well, you’ll understand when you see him.”

“I wasn’t planning to yell at him or anything,” He wasn’t pissed anymore, just disappointed. “I just need to see that he’s okay, you know? He sounded shaky on the phone, it wasn’t right.”

“He needs some rest,” Donna said, helping her children into their jackets. “He could probably use a relaxation retreat or something too.”

“Well, shit, we can manage that,” If the kid needed a retreat to decompress, Jax would get him a damn retreat-- or the closest thing to it. “I’ll take him camping.”

“Yeah, I’ve been camping with your high maintenance ass, I can promise you it is not relaxing,” Donna joked, eyes sparkling with amusement. “How about you just let him be a teenager for awhile.”

“I can do that,” How hard could that be? “I’ll let him lock himself in his room for days on end with video games and dirty magazines.”

“Oh, please, no one uses dirty magazines anymore, Jax, not when we have the internet,” Juice chortled behind his wine cooler. “Just give him your credit card and leave him be.”

“What makes a magazine dirty?” Donna and Opie’s daughter, Ellie, naively asked.

“And that’s our cue to leave,” Donna decided, guiding her kids toward the front door. “See you guys later.”

“Later,” Warmth spread through Jax’s chest as he watched his best friend and his family leave hand-in-hand. “They’re doing better.”

“It’s sweet,” Gemma smiled warmly. “A man needs his family.”

“Yeah, he does,” Jax murmured, suddenly feeling like the happiness had been sucked out of the room. “Not all of us are meant to have it, though.”

“This about Dean?” Gemma questioned, cradling her grandson close to her chest. “He seemed off when he left.”

“He’s not coming home tonight,” Or any other night, Jax suspected. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Sweetheart--”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hey Jax,” Opie poked his head back into the house. “Donna’s gonna come back around to help clean up. She took my truck to go get supplies.”

“She doesn’t have to do that,” Jax didn’t want to put her out, and he didn’t really need another person reorganizing his shit. “You know Gem and Stiles have a system for cleaning my house.”

“Yeah, it’s called doing it for you,” Gemma groused. “Since you’re too lazy to do it yourself and we don’t want you living in filth.”

“Donna wants to come help,” Opie spoke over the matriarch. “I think it’s her way of showing she’s trying, you know, she’s trying to be okay with all the club stuff.”

“I promise we won’t keep her too long.”

“I appreciate that.”

* * *

 

Bobby’s holy water sprinkler worked like a charm, providing Dean, Sam, Derek, and Ruby a relatively safe path into the house.

“You think she knows we’re here?” Dean asked rhetorically as they came across the body of an elderly man in the foyer.

“Probably,” Ruby muttered pensively. “We should find her before she finds us.”

Sam took point, leading the way to the living room, holding the demon-killing knife out in front of him. To Dean, the room appeared to be empty, but the alpha suddenly tensing beside him told a different story.

“We’re not alone here,” Derek whispered to him. “There’s a heartbeat coming from the cabinet behind you.”

“Got it.”

Dean whipped around just as the cabinet door opened and a middle-aged made stumbled out. He was quick to smack a hand over the man’s mouth, shushing him before he could yell and alert Lilith to their presence.

“We’re here to help. Okay?” Dean tried to reassure him, removing his hand as a show of good faith. “Now, we’re gonna talk nice and quiet, okay?”

“Sir,” Sam spoke quietly to the man. “Where is your daughter?”

“It’s not...it’s not her anymore,” The stranger sobbed. “It’s upstairs. Upstairs in her bedroom.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Listen to me. I want you to go downstairs to the basement,” If was the only place Dean could think of under the circumstances. “Put a line of salt at the door behind you. Do you understand me?”

“Not without my wife.”

“Yes, without your wife,” Dean understood the guy’s hesitation, but it didn’t change what needed to be done. “Let’s go.”

“No,” The man remained firm in his decision. “Not without my wife.”

Dean didn’t have time for arguments, so he did the only thing he could do and slugged the man hard enough to knock him unconscious.

“Okay. Derek, you take him,” Dean shoved the body at the wolf, giving him no choice but to heft it over his shoulders. “We’ll get him to the basement. Sam, you find the girl, but don’t do anything until I get there.”

“Okay.”

Sam took Ruby by the arm, forcing her to follow him in search of the demon. Dean and Derek went in the other direction, passing through the kitchen to get to the basement entrance, dumping the stranger at the bottom of the stairs.

“Not the safest place to leave him,” Dean huffed, laying a salt line in front of the door. “But it’ll do.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Derek shrugged, eyeing Dean curiously. “So, why haven’t you asked?”

“Asked what?”

“For me to bite you, to turn you,” Derek flashed his eyes, letting them bleed red. “The enhanced healing could help you.”

“It wouldn’t be enough,” The option had been on the table at one point, but Dean had dismissed it. “I still wouldn’t heal fast enough for it to make a difference. The hellhounds would keep on me until the job was done.”

“Oh,” Derek tilted his head to the side, positioning his left ear toward the ceiling like he was trying to hear something better. “I thought Sam wasn’t supposed to do anything with the girl until you were up there.”

“He’s not,” Dean had made his instructions very clear. “Why? You picking something up on werewolf-radio?”

“The girl must be asleep or something, ‘cause everyone’s whispering,” Derek commented, glaring up at the ceiling. “The mother is telling Sam to just do it, just kill the girl.”

“Shit.”

Dean dashed up the stairs, back through the kitchen, and up another flight of stairs to the second floor. He found the girl in a room at the end of the hall, curled up in a princess bed with her mother. Sam stood over them like a giant, knife poised at the ready in his hands.

“Do it,” The mother encouraged Sam through her tears. “Please, do it. She’s not my little girl.”

That wasn’t quite right, though. Dean looked at the girl and saw just that, a little girl. There was no trace of the demon he had seen in her earlier. If Sam used Ruby’s knife on the girl, he would unknowingly be murdering an innocent child.

“Wait!” Dean grabbed his brother by the wrist. “It’s not her.”

“What?”

“It’s not in the girl anymore.”

* * *

 

There was a roadblock at the intersection they needed to take to get to Jax’s house. The local police had cordoned off the area with crime scene tape, preventing anyone but first responders and other emergency vehicles from entering. The reason for the roadblock appeared to be from a tan truck with a shattered back window parked under a streetlamp on the corner.

“D-Dad,” Stiles breath caught in his throat as he recognized the pick-up. “That...that’s Opie’s truck.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” His father urged, unbuckling his seat belt. “It doesn’t mean anything. He might’ve just witnessed whatever happened here.”

The thought would have been reassuring had it not been for the body lying in the road, covered by only a thin sheet. The outline of the body beneath the sheet showed someone short, petite, the opposite of Opie’s tall, bulky stature, but identical to that of wife.

“Oh god,” Stiles heaved, wrenching the door open and tumbling out of the car. “No, no, no.”

“Stiles, wait!” His dad leapt out after him, jogging around to the passenger side of the car to stop him from breaching the crime scene tape. “You can’t go over there, it’s an active scene.”

“Dad,” Stiles clutched his father’s sleeve, holding it like a lifeline. “Dad, it’s Donna.”

“We don’t know that,” The older man stood in front of him, trying to shield him from the sight. “It could be anybody.”

 _**Anybody** _ wouldn’t warrant nearly the entirety of SAMCRO riding up from all directions, one right after another. _**Anybody** _ wouldn’t bring the Winston family car to a screeching halt just outside the crime scene tape. _**Anybody** _ wouldn’t result in a desperate shout from Opie as he burst out of the car and made a run for the body, dropping to his knees beside it.

“ _Donna!_ ” Opie cried out, pulling to sheet back to see his wife’s face. “ _No. Donna, no._ ”

“Oh my god,” Stiles felt bile rise in his throat as he took in the bloody disfigurement, the damage done to the once beautiful woman. “T-They….”

“Goddamn it,” His father swore under his breath. “Goddamn it.”

“ _No, Donna,_ ” Opie moaned, cradling his wife’s limp body in his arms. “ _Oh, baby…._ ”

With a crowd of lookie-loos beginning to form around the scene, Jax and Chibs stepped up to carefully disentangle Opie from what was left of his wife, coaxing him up to his feet.

“ _Hey, come on, man.”_ Jax nudged Opie’s face into the crook of his neck, letting tears soak his shirt as the man sobbed. _“Come on, Ope._ ”

Jax’s eyes locked with his across the road and Stiles saw the grief and the rage that was already beginning to cloud it. Jax held his gaze for several seconds then averted it to where Clay was interrogating the deputies, before meeting Stiles eyes once more. Stiles understood what his brother was trying to tell him, what he conveyed with only a look.

“This was Clay.”

* * *

 

The little girl being demon-free put them back at square one with no idea where Lilith was or what poor bastard she was riding around in.

“Well, I hate to say I told you so,” Ruby gloated about the turn of events. “But I did tell you.”

“All right, Ruby,” Sam threw his hand up in frustration. “Could she get past the sprinklers?”

“With her pay grade she ain’t sweating holy water.” Ruby snickered.

“You could have mentioned that before we came in here,” Derek spit at the woman. “She might not even be in the house anymore.”

“Okay, Ruby, you win,” Sam ceded victory to the demon. “What do I have to do to save Dean?”

“Uh-uh. You had your chance,” Ruby shook her head. “You can’t flip a switch. We needed time.”

“Well, there’s gotta be something,” Sam gulped, desperation dripping off every word. “There’s gotta be some way. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“No, you won’t,” Dean took Sam by the warm, yanking him away from Ruby. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Don’t, Dean!” Sam yelled, tearing his arm from his brother’s grasp. “I’m not gonna let you go to hell.”

“Yes, you are!” Dean snapped, softening only when his brother reared back like he’d been slapped. “Yes, you are. I’m sorry. I mean, this is all my fault. I know that. But what you’re doing, it’s not going to save me. It’s only gonna kill you.”

“Then...” Sam choked on a sob. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Keep fighting. Take care of my wheels. Look in on Jax and Abel for me. Abel’s gonna need his uncle Sammy,” Dean’s breath hitched as he laid out instructions for his brother. “Sam, remember what Dad taught you, okay? And remember what I taught you.”

Sam could only manage a nod with tears streaming down his cheeks, but that was all Dean needed.

“And Derek, you remember what I told you,” Dean fixed the alpha with a pointed stare. “Look after your dad and Sammy. They’re you responsibility now. You gotta take care of them.”

“I will.”

The chimes of a grandfather clock striking midnight flowed ominously through the house, signaling that Dean’s time had officially run out.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Ruby said sympathetically. “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

A howl in the distance reached Derek’s ears, sending a chill up his spine, but Dean was the only other person who seemed to hear it.

“Hellhound,” Dean gasped, eyes widening in fear.

“Where?” Derek could hear it, but he couldn’t see it. “Point it out and I--”

“Run!” Dean shouted, pushing Derek and Sam along. “Come on!”

The three of them bolted from the kitchen with Ruby on their heels and the hound closing in. They ran into a home office, slamming the double-doors behind them. Sam and Derek used their bodies to hold the doors shut while the hellhound pounded against it, fighting to get in. Dean pulled a small satchel of goofer dust from his jacket, frantically pouring a line of it in front of the door until the pounding and scratching ceased.

“Dean, I could kill it, I’m strong enough,” Derek insisted, begging the hunter to let him do _something_. “Let me do it. Let me try.”

“If you can’t kill it, it’ll kill you. I won’t put you at risk like that,” Dean shot down the idea as he lined the windows with the dust as he had done with the door. “And if you do kill it, more will just come in its place. They’ll keep coming until they have my soul.”

“Sam, give me the knife. Maybe I can fight them off until you find Lilith,” Ruby held out her hand expectantly. “Come on! That dust won’t last forever.”

“Wait,” Dean said slowly, face twisting in disgust as he gave the demon a quick once-over. “Sam, that’s not Ruby! It’s Lilith!”

With her cover blown, Lilith proceeded to fling Sam against the wall, pinning him there without lifting a finger, causing the knife to fall from his grip. She repeated the move on Dean, tossing him onto the desk behind him. Derek took advantage of her focus on the Winchesters, shoving his claws knuckle-deep inside her gut while she looked the other way.

“Oh, silly puppy, those little things won’t work on me,” Lilith tsked, hurling him violently against the wall beside Sam with only the flick of her eyes. “I’m a demon, not some tiny bunny rabbit you chased through the forest.”

“How long you been in her?” Dean asked, body drawn taut as he fought to lift his head.

“Not long,” She smiled innocently, ogling the body she now possessed. “But I like it. It’s all grown up and pretty.”

“And where’s Ruby?”

“She was a very bad girl,” Lilith tutted disapprovingly, eyes coating over white. “So I sent her far, far away.”

“You know, I should have seen it before,” Dean cursed himself. “But all you demons look alike to me.”

“Hmm.” Lilith brushed off the comment, shifting her focus to the younger Winchester. “Hello, Sam. I’ve wanted to meet you for a very long time.”

She slithered to Sam like a snake, desire painting her face. She took him by the chin, forcing him to look at her and accept the kiss she pressed to his lips.

“Gross,” Derek gagged, swearing he could hear a sizzling noise coming from the lip lock. “Leave him alone.”

“But I don’t want to,” Lilith pouted, running a finger over Sam’s bottom lip. “His lips are so soft.”

“Right, so you have me,” Sam remarked, jerking his head to the side as much as she would allow to avoid another kiss. “Let my brothers go.”

“Silly goose,” Lilith chuckled, skimming her nails over his throat. “You wanna bargain, you have to have something I want. You don’t.”

“So, this is your big plan, huh? Drag me to hell. Kill Sam, Derek, probably that family downstairs,” Dean breathed heavily, struggling to hold himself up against invisible restraints. “And then what? Become queen bitch?”

“I don’t answer to puppy chow, sorry.” Lilith apologized, moving to the double doors and kicking the goofer dust out of the way, smirking at Dean as she opened the doors and set the hound loose. “Sic ‘em, boy.”

* * *

 

Stiles was seated at Jax’s kitchen table when he’d gotten the call. He was nursing a glass of whiskey Gemma had poured him, “ _It’ll calm your nerves,_ ” she’d said, and in light of the circumstances his father hadn’t protested the beverage, only capped him off at one. The phone vibrating so suddenly over the surface of the table might have startled him had he not been expecting the call.

“Derek,” He brought the phone to his ear to ask the only thing that needed asking. “It’s done then?”

“ _Yes,_ ” The wolf grunted over the line, sounding pained. “ _He...Dean, he’s...gone. Dead. They ripped him apart._ ”

“Okay,” Stiles swallowed thickly, still too numb from the shock of Donna’s murder to feel much in anything. “And Lilith?”

“ _I don’t know,_ ” Derek responded with confusion. “ _When it was...done, Sam tried to kill her, but she released this white light, and then she was just gone. She left nothing but the corpse of the woman she was possessing.”_

“We’ll find a way to deal with her later,” Revenge wasn’t something that could be acted upon right away. Their emotions were too high, they’d be sloppy, make potentially life-threatening mistakes. “How’s Sam?”

“ _About how you’d expect. He’s in shock_ ,” That would wear off soon enough, sadness and anger would take its place. “ _He’s still holding Dean. He won’t let him go._ ”

“You need to bring him to me.”

“ _I know, I just..._ ” Derek sighed, exhaustion evident in his voice. “ _Dad’s trying to talk to him. We’ll get him there. I’ll get him there. It’s just going to take a little time._ ”

“Just keep him close.” There was no telling what Sam might do if left on his own. “I have to go now.”

He ended the call without another word, setting his phone carefully on the table. He knocked back the rest of his drink and stood, taking a deep breath, preparing himself for what happened next.

“I, uh, I-I need t-to tell Jax,” Stiles stammered, meeting his parents questioning gazes. “I need to go tell Jax that D-Dean is dead.”

Jax had come home an hour ago, having left Opie and the kids in Piney and Mary’s care. He stopped only to hug Gemma, needing his mother’s comfort, before closing himself up in the nursery with the baby. He was still there, standing over Abel’s crib, watching the infant sleep.

“Jax,” He called out softly to his brother. “I need to talk to you.”

“No,” Jax refused, reaching in to the crib to stroke his son’s cheek. “Not right now.”

“It’s important,” It wasn’t something they could ignore or put off for some other day. “It’s about Dean.”

“He said ‘goodbye’ this morning. We don’t say _goodbye_ like that, with finality and shit.” Jax murmured sullenly, lips set in a grim line. “He’s not coming back, is he? That’s what you came in here to tell me, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“He was supposed to be here,” Jax mumbled, jaw clenched, blue eyes wet and shimmering. “He was supposed to be here. He said he would be here.”

“I’m sorry, Jackson,” Stiles wasn’t quite sure what else there was to say.

“He’s supposed to be here with me and Abel. He was gonna go hunting, then come home to be with us. That was the deal. He’s supposed to be here,” Jax trembled, wiping a line of tears from his cheek. “Can you just...can you go away, please? Just leave me alone for while.”

“I don’t….” Stiles faltered, biting his lip. “I don’t think being alone is what you need right now.”

“What I don’t need is you telling me what I need. I know what I need.” Jax snarled, balling his hands into fists at his side. “I need to be with my son. So just go away. Please. Go somewhere else. Go home. I don’t need you right now.”

“O-Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: A pack member makes amends, John and Piney retaliate against the Argents, Jax and Opie come to a decision, and Stiles interferes in club business.


	16. The Revelator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warning: Non-Canon Character Deaths., Arson, Assault.  
> Gifs: [You Can Run](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/174040980749/charming-wayward-sons-verse-you-can-run-insp), [Why her?](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/173780162429/charming-wayward-sons-verse-why-her-she-wasnt), [How it Ends](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/174138376964/charming-wayward-sons-verse-how-it-ends-hell), [The Table](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/173885981184/charming-wayward-sons-verse-table-despite-what)  
> Episodes: [SOA] 1x13 The Revelator

He'd been awake for hours, or maybe he’d never fallen asleep. He stared at the ceiling as if it held all the answers to why his entire life had gone to shit. As it turned out, it didn't have anything but a water stain in the corner from when the roof leaked during the last storm, maybe one day he’d get around to getting it fixed.

He should get Abel too. The kid’s cries had been what had woken Jax, though they weren't enough to pull him out of bed. Even when the cries turned to wails and screams, Jax couldn't find the energy or will to get out of bed to tend to his son.

Abel would be fine, someone would be around sooner or later, Jax was sure of it. Stiles would come home to play the dutiful brother once he was finished moping over Jax snapping at him the previous night. Gem would be by at some point, under the guise of bringing groceries or something else when really she wanted to make sure Jax hadn't killed himself or the kid.

So, yeah, someone would be by, and until then Jax was content to stare at the ceiling and wait for answers that wouldn't be given for questions he couldn't bring himself to ask.

* * *

 

What do you do when facing unbearable loss? Do you curl up in a ball and cry? Or do you keep busy in an effort to hold off the tidal waves of grief threatening to drown you? For Stiles, it was the latter.

Since his father had taken care of the interior of the house in the days since they'd returned to Charming, Stiles decided to tackle the exterior when he'd awoken at dawn. He'd mowed the lawn and pulled weeds. He was in the process of using the water hose to wash away years worth of dust and grime from the porch when the Impala pulled up to the curb with Derek and Sam climbing out of it.

Sam looked rough, but that was to be expected. He was the last Winchester standing, and the weight of that hung over him like a dark cloud. Every bit of light had been extinguished from him with the loss of his big brother.

"Hey," Stiles should have hugged him, but he couldn't bring himself to, physical affection to comfort wasn't something he could force himself to offer at the moment. He settled for a tight but welcoming smile. "How you doing?"

"Fine." Sam responded gruffly, eyes cast at the faded, dirt covered planks of the porch.

"You look tired," Stiles would bet he was too scared to close his eyes to sleep, too frightened of the nightmares of Dean's death that were surely waiting for him. "I got a room all made up for you. Go on and get some sleep."

He'd cleaned up his dad's childhood room in preparation for Sam's arrival. He had no plans to sleep there himself. He'd passed out on the couch from the exhaustion the night before, while his dad had kept a watchful eye on him from the recliner.

"I'm not staying," Sam grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I get what you're trying to do, what Dean probably asked you to do, but it's not necessary."

"I'm not doing it for Dean, I'm doing it for you," Stiles knew Sam well enough to know that leaving him on his own was an incredibly dangerous idea. "Just stay for a couple days. Put yourself back together the best you can. And when you're feeling better, I won't try to talk you out of leaving."

"Fine," Sam relented, visibly deflating. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem. I just want to make sure you're okay before you go off on your own," Stiles acknowledged, before noticing a missing member of the party that had left for New Harmony. "Where's Bobby?"

"He went up to Beacon Hills," Derek replied, shifting on his feet. "I'm supposed to meet up with him once I've dropped Sam off."

"Right. You'll want to head out to look for Erica and Boyd," If they hadn't been captured or killed sometime in the night by a rogue hunter, they were still missing. "Peter didn't mention anything about them when he checked in, but he did say something about an alpha pack leaving their symbol on your front door."

"It's a warning, their way of telling me they're coming," Derek revealed, his eyes bleeding red at the threat. "I'll handle it. It's not something you need to worry about."

"I won't need to, but I will," It was his biological imperative to worry, it wasn't something he could help. "My guess is Peter probably knows more about this alpha pack than you do. I'll go talk to him about later today when I'm in Beacon Hills picking up my funeral suit from the house."

"We're not having a service for Dean," Sam said grimly. "We...we already buried him."

"It's for Donna," Stiles bit into his bottom lip, tried to blink away the tears welling in his eyes. "She, um, she...she was gunned down last night after Abel's party."

"Jesus," Sam shook his head, features softening as he met Stiles eye. "I'm so sorry."

"Do they know who did it?" Derek asked, standing tall, at attention, as if he were waiting for Stiles to put him in play and help find the perpetrator. "If someone's retaliating against your brother's club, maybe Charming isn't the safest place for you guys right now."

"It wasn't retaliation," It was an inside job that would be dealt with by the end of the night. "I'm gonna take care of it."

"You?" Sam furrowed his brows in concern. "You're not…"

"The club isn't strong enough to handle it," If they knew who was behind the hit, they would buckle under the betrayal. "It has to come from the outside."

"Just be careful."

"I don't need to be," He was safe within the confines of the clubs world. "They know they can't hurt me, no matter how much they'll want to by the time I'm finished."

"Aren't you the one who says to wait for things to calm to get revenge?" Derek questioned, tipping his head to side. "Emotions run too high and that makes you stupid or something."

"Emotions cloud judgment," That would be a problem for anyone else, but Stiles did not feel foggy or clouded. "I've never been clearer about anything in my life.”

* * *

 

“Deputy Hale,” John greeted the deputy brusquely, coming to stand beside his desk inside Charming P.D. “We need to talk.”

"Something I can help you with, Sheriff Stilinski?" Hale asks, absently adding his signature to the bottom of paperwork as he flipped through it.

"Yeah, you can help me," John pulled a chair over from another desk, sitting down across from the young deputy. "I want to know everything you do about Donna Winston's murder."

"I was under the impression you turned down the job as chief here. They're bringing in some Sheriff from South Dakota by the name of Mills," Hale mentioned, setting his pen down and closing the file. "You've got no jurisdiction here that would allow you access to the Winston case file."

"Don't play games with me, David," John narrowed his eyes at the other man. "You know how special Donna was to my son. He needs answers to why she was taken from him. I need to give him those answers."

"You already know why, we both do." Hale sighed, leaning back in his chair. "The club thought Opie was a rat, tried to take him out, got Donna instead."

"What we know and what we can prove are two different things," From a legal standpoint, nothing could be done without evidence. "We know Clay wouldn't risk pulling the trigger himself, he'd have someone he could trust do it. We've gotta find out who before the rest of the club puts the pieces together. Because if they find out for first, you're going to have a war on your hands."

"Unser would leak the information to the club," Hale commented bitterly. "Cut out the middleman, let the outlaws dispense their own justice against each other."

"An outlaw-on-outlaw war is a good way to get a lot of people killed," Not to mention it went against everything they stood for as officers of the law. "And you know, Unser talked a big game, sat on his lofty perch and took pride in the deal he made with SAMCRO, claiming it made Charming a safer place. The thing is, he didn't care one bit about this town. All he wanted was to line his pockets and to please Gemma, both of which he got by being loyal to Clay. So, no, he would not have leaked the information. He would've protected Clay at all costs, even if it meant letting the club start a war with another M.C."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Hale asked exasperatedly. "All we know about the murder is that the perpetrator was in a black SUV, and black Rover was stolen from a sports bar in Lodi last night. I sent deputies to ask around the bar."

"Well, that's a start." Truth be told, that lead probably wouldn't pan out, but it was something at least. "Look, Hale, I know Unser had been your boss since you came out of the academy, but he's not someone you want to emulate. You need to be better than him."

"I never wanted to be like Unser. I hated the deal he made with Clay, but I understood it," Hale sighed, glancing up at the picture of the fallen chief that now hung on the wall of the station. "He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He didn't want the war to reach Charming, and Clay offered him a way to keep the town safe."

"Yeah, Clay promised to protect Charming, but he never has," Charming had become an increasingly dangerous place to live with Clay and Unser in positions of power. "Unser saw that but still he did nothing."

"Maybe he was worried about ending up like your dad," Hale remarked curtly. "Everybody knows Clay and John Teller killed your father because he wouldn't allow them to run guns through Charming. Bribery and threats didn't work so they killed him."

"And Unser was all too happy to cover it up," John sneered, temper flaring at the mention if his father's murder. "He covered up my dad's murder, took his job, and gave the men who killed him a free pass to reign over this town like kings."

"When you left town, people always thought you'd come back and overthrow Unser," Hale mentioned, sounding equal parts wistful and disappointed. "You'd take your place as chief and dismantle the hold SAMCRO had on Charming, make it a safe place to live again."

"Like you said, everyone knew JT and Clay killed my father, Unser covered it up. You were all so quick to look the other way, act like it never happened." The town could have voted Unser out of office, elected someone with the stones to take on SAMCRO, but they didn't. "This town didn't deserve to be saved."

"We reap what we sow."

"Yes, we do."

* * *

 

Jax only managed to pull himself out of bed after Gemma came over. She'd run the vacuum cleaner through his bedroom until he'd gotten annoyed and left. He didn’t tell her he was going, didn’t ask her if she’d look after Abel, he just left.

He wound up at Opie’s, putting aside his own grief to check on his best friend.

"I'd ask how you're doing, but I am painfully aware of what you're feeling," Jax murmured, sitting beside Opie on the children's plastic playset chairs. "How are the kids?"

"Ellie's been crying all morning," Opie kept a watchful eye on his children playing across the lawn. "Kenny still doesn't get it."

"If there's anything you need..." Jax wasn't in the right frame of mind to help many, but he'd do anything he could for Opie. "I'm here."

"Donna knew," Opie’s voice shook, betraying his stoic mask. "She knew I was gonna bring on something like this."

"Ope," Jax wanted to give his friend the truth, tell him why Donna had really been taken from them, but it would only do more harm than good. "You didn't bring this on."

"A banger shot my wife," Opie growled. "I had nothing to do with that?"

"I don't..." What the hell was he supposed to say when they both knew their lives were directly responsible for Donna's death? "Anything I can do to help?"

"No," Opie shook his head. "But, uh, I heard about Dean. I'm sorry."

"In a way it was his choice," Jax didn't have confirmation of that, but in his heart he knew it was true. "I don't know how it happened or why, I didn't give Stiles the chance to tell me, but I know it was Dean's choice."

"Does knowing that help?"

"Not really," If anything it made things worse. "I spent all yesterday with this...dread in my heart, knowing something awful was going to happen and I couldn't stop it. And now...now I just wish I didn't know."

"What do you mean?"

"Dean was on a hunt, if he didn't come home...I'd just think he found another hunt," Sure eventually he'd get worried, but he'd make excuses for Dean to explain away his absence, ignoring the obvious to protect himself. "I just would've liked to keep on believing he was on a hunt."

"I get that," Opie admitted, threading his fingers through his beard. "I'd like to believe Donna was at the store, that she'd be home soon."

"But they're not coming home," And knowing that is what made getting out of the bed so hard that morning. "What do we do now?"

"We're supposed to take care of our kids, get them through this," Opie shuddered, as if the idea terrified him. "But I don't know how to do that. These kids barely know me, Donna was their entire world. I don't know what the hell I'm doing here."

"Yeah, neither do I with Abel." He thought he could handle it with Dean by his side, now he was entirely out of his element. "I laid in bed this morning listening to him cry and I couldn't care enough to get up and comfort him. I just wanted him to be quiet or I wanted to leave so I didn't have to hear him anymore."

"Maybe we should," Opie suggested, motioning toward the driveway where their bikes were parked. "Leave, I mean."

"We can go for a little while," Jax agreed. "Get our heads on straight."

"Yeah, something like that," Opie nodded. "It's just an idea."

"It's a good idea," One Jax was already considering, because being anywhere else sounded a hell of a lot better than being where they were. "I'll think about it."

* * *

 

Stiles hadn't been back to Jax's house since he'd been kicked out. Jax didn't want to see him, it hurt like hell, but it was fine, he could deal with it. It was Abel Stiles truly worried for. Jax wasn't the type of person who could function properly after tragedy, and the baby would certainly be overlooked in the face of his grief. So when Gemma messaged him to say Jax had gone to Opie's and she was tending to the baby, Stiles had jumped at the chance to go check on him, to see with his own eyes that his nephew was all right.

"I'm not sure why you brought me along," Sam mumbled as they stepped into the house. "I would've been fine at your grandpa's place."

"You would've bolted as soon as I was out of sight," Stiles didn't trust Sam to stay, even when they both knew it was what he needed. "And there's something here I want you to see."

He led Sam back to the nursery where Abel was lying awake in his crib. He smiled down at the baby as lifted him into his arms, snuggling him close.

"You know how to hold a baby, right?" Stiles didn’t wait for an answer to transfer the infant over to Sam. "Support his head."

"I got him," Sam grunted, adjusting the baby more comfortably in his arms. "Why do you want me to hold him?"

"Because he's the future," Stiles reached out to caress his nephews soft hair. "He's the reason to keep going. You're a part of that, 'cause your his uncle too."

"I'm not," Sam denied the claim, but held the infant tighter still.

"Dean wanted to be here, to help raise him, to be his other father. He wanted you to be Abel's uncle," They couldn't just ignore that just because Dean was gone. "Abel deserves to know him, to know the man that loved him and his father. And nobody knew Dean better than you. You have to be the one to tell him who Dean was."

"I want to," Sam bit the inside of his cheek. "Dean asked me to, but I don't know if I can right now."

"You don't have to do it yet. You're only job right now is to grieve for your big brother," Stiles wouldn't ask anything more than that of him. "But when you're ready, you can tell him who Dean was. And when you're ready to get back on the road, back to work-- if that's what you want--"

"It's not about what I want," Sam declared firmly. "I have to keep hunting. I have to find Lilith, to kill her. I have to find a way to get Dean back."

"Sam," Stiles inhaled a deep, calming breath to steady himself. "You can't bring him back, you know that."

"He brought me back," And wasn’t that just the entire reason they were even having this conversation? If the deal had never been made, he doubted either of the Winchesters would still be standing. "I was dead and he brought me back."

"He made a deal to bring you back. You cannot make the same deal for him." It would only perpetuate the vicious cycle. "Because the moment he found out, he would make another deal and we would be right back here."

"I have to get him back."

"Your dad made a deal to save Dean, and Dean had to accept that," Stiles could only imagine how hard that was for him. "He accepted it and he kept going. Now you have to accept this."

"I don't know how do that," Sam clenched his eyes closed, forcing back tears. "I don't have anyone left. My whole family is gone."

"No, it's not," His blood family sure, but that didn't account for everyone. "You've got Bobby and Derek, me and Jax, and that little baby right there."

Sam remained silent, but nuzzled the baby's head, pressing a kiss to his soft hair. Stiles took the move as acceptance, and decided to leave the two alone. He made his way down the hall, through the living room, and into the kitchen where he found Gemma at table, hunched over an old binder.

"Sam all right?" Gemma asked, removing her reading glasses to rub her eyes

"No," Stiles muttered, leaning against the counter. "Do you expect him to be?"

"Not one bit," Gemma hummed, rising from the table. "Losing a sibling...it's like losing a piece of yourself."

"I guess I know that now," Donna wasn't his blood, but she was one of few people who loved him since the day he was born, who he loved with everything inside him. "You know, I was prepared to lose Dean. I've been preparing myself to lose him since he told me about his deal. It still hurts, but with Donna...it's so much worse."

"I know, baby," Gemma stood in front of him, cupping his face in her hands. "It was unexpected. None of us could've seen this coming."

"None of us?" He wanted to believe that, he really did. "Not even you or Clay?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gemma narrowed her eyes, dropping her hands from his face like she'd been burned. "Hmm?"

"Donna's shot driving Opie's truck days after Stahl hauled Opie in for questioning," It all smelled rotten, smelt like Clay. "Oh, and there's the fact that Stahl planted bugs in Opie's phone and truck."

"Stahl planted bugs on Opie?"

"What, did you think Opie let her put them there?" Stiles couldn't believe anyone who truly knew Opie would believe that he would rat. "Or did you think your dear husband was so far gone that he'd try to have Opie taken out without evidence to support his motive?"

"I don't know what you think you know," Gemma scowled at him. "But Clay had nothing to do with what happened to Donna."

"You don't believe that," He knew her tells because he had the same ones, he could say definitively that she was lying, either to him or just herself. "I've gone through it all in my head and all roads lead back to Clay."

"Clay was at the party with me when Donna was shot."

"Well, of course he was," He never thought Clay actually pulled the trigger. "Clay was probably a prospect the last time he did his own dirty work. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say it was his loyal lapdog, his trigger boy, behind the gun. Tig is the only one Clay would trust to execute a brother without a club vote. And Tig's the only one stupid enough to mistake Donna for Opie."

"Stiles-- _Nathani_ _e_ _l_ ," Gemma grabbed him roughly by the chins, her manicured nails biting into his soft skin. "I know you hate Clay, hell, you've been at war with him practically your entire life, but you can't let that hate cloud your judgment. You need to drop this crazy theory of yours before it gets you hurt."

"Who's gonna hurt me, Gem?" Stiles asked, an ugly sneer on his lips. "You?"

"Of course not."

"Clay then," Yeah, he wouldn't put it past the asshole to try to cross him off. "Now me he'd handle personally, he wouldn't outsource me to his trigger boy or another crew. He'd want me to see it was him when he did it."

"I'm not saying Clay is guilty of what you think he's guilty of. I could present you with all the evidence in the world and you'd still blame him," Gemma remarked harshly. "But if you take this to the club, tell them Clay killed Donna trying to kill Opie, you'll be starting a war that he will make sure you are a casualty of."

"Oh, no, I have no intention of outing Clay to the club," That was just too messy, it would complicate too many things, put too many players with split loyalty on the field that Stiles couldn't control. "I will bring Clay down, I will use SAMCRO to do it, but not the way you think."

"Goddamn it, Stiles," Gemma stepped away, raking her hands through her hair. "If you go to war with Clay, I won't be able to protect you."

"You can and you will," Stiles may not have always believed Gemma loved him, but a part of him always knew she'd look out for him. "If you don't, my dad will spend the rest of his life bringing down not just Clay, but the entire club, and we both know the club means more to you than Clay ever will."

"And you know I won't lose another son," Gemma snarled, shaking her head. "I lost my Thomas. We just lost Dean. And now you want to put your own head on the chopping block."

"I want justice for Donna and to protect the innocent," If Clay was willing to take out a brother so easily, there's no limit to what he would do. "If I have to put myself on the line or step on a few toes to do that, I will."

"You know, sometimes you and I couldn't be more different," Gemma acknowledged. "Other times, we couldn't be more alike."

"If that's you giving me your approval--"

"It's not," Gemma would never afford him the privilege of having her approval for anything. "You don't know what Clay is capable of. If you go after him, he will kill you."

"That would be incredibly ambitious of him," Many had tried, more so lately, to put Stiles in the ground, and they'd all failed. "I'm not afraid of Clay."

"You need to be," Gemma warned him. "He's dangerous."

"I don't care," Stiles refused to fear Clay, to give him that kind of power. "I'll do what I have to do."

"Stiles…"

"I've got to go to Beacon Hills to get my suit," Stiles said, changing the subject. "Can Sam stay here? Will you keep an eye on him while I'm gone?"

"Yes."

"Thanks."

* * *

 

Chapel was a disaster, Jax couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to be dragged into it. He'd listened to Clay pin Donna's murder on the Niners, citing the earlier ambush on Opie and Tig as his evidence. It was bullshit, Jax knew that, there were too many coincidences that didn't add-up, starting with the convenient ambush only made possible by Clay's sudden and out of character deal with the Mayans.

Jax had heard enough after watching Clay shoot down Piney's call for retaliation, seeing the old man storm out in a huff. They all knew if it had been anyone else, there would be three charters half way to town ready to reap mayhem. Clay's complete lack of action was just one more thing that didn't add up, another proof of guilt and to Jax it was proverbial nail in Clay's coffin. He couldn't stand listening to Clay lie to his face, to the club, and chose to leave the same way Piney did, but he didn't follow the old man.

He ended up at an old house on the north side of town. He'd been there at least once before, as a small child. He could remember being dressed in funeral garb and holding tightly to his mother's hand as she offered condolences to the teenager who had suddenly become the man of the house. The house looked the same as it did then as it did now, from the orange shag carpet to the pink and white geometric wallpaper that had Jax doing a double-take.

"Is this, uh," Jax tapped the wallpaper. "Is this pattern supposed to represent...vaginas, because it looks like vaginas."

"Don't sexualize the wallpaper, Jax," John admonished him, eyes never leaving the photo album on his lap. "But my mom put that wallpaper up in the era of peace and love, and she dropped a lot of acid back then so there's no telling what she was seeing when she picked it out."

"Right," The Stilinski matriarch was a hippy, Jax never would have guessed that after years of Gemma telling him what a psychotic bitch she was. "I guess you and your dad never got around to changing it after she bolted, huh?"

"Wasn't really a priority."

"Right," Jax nodded, superstitiously glancing down the hall, expecting his little brother to come running. "Stiles around?"

"He's in Beacon Hills picking up a few things," John revealed, sipping his coffee. "I can call him home, if you need to see him."

"No, that's okay," Jax brushed off the idea, choosing to sit beside John on the couch. "I came to talk to you, actually."

"All right," John set his old family photo album aside, giving Jax his full attention. “Talk to me, son.”

"I wanted to, um, I wanted to ask you something," Something that would probably come off accusatory or mildly offensive. "After Claudia died, why did you send Stiles to me? Was it because you couldn't take care of him?"

"No, it was because I wasn't who _he_ needed to take care of him," John sighed, setting his mug on the coffee table. "I wanted to be there for him, to hold him while he wept, to comfort him through his grief."

"Why didn't you?"

"He wasn't responding to me. He was rigid when I hugged him. He wouldn't eat or sleep. He'd just stare out the window for hours, like was waiting for Mommy to come back," John murmured, seemingly suddenly a million miles away. "He sunk so far into himself that I couldn't pull him back. His doctor wanted to hospitalize him before he could do real damage to himself."

"But you sent him to me instead," That was a hell of a risk to take with an eight year old's life. "Why?"

"I thought distance could help. Claudia's presence was so heavy in that house, there wasn't one place you couldn't feel her," John trembled, grief cascading over his face. "And maybe he was angry with me because I couldn't save her. An incurable disease is hard for children to understand. And back then, Stiles was so little that he still believed parents had the ability to fix everything, but I couldn't fix his mom.…"

"For what it's worth, I don't think he ever blamed you," Jax hadn't seen an ounce of hate or blame in his brother in all those months after Claudia had passed. "And you know, he didn't respond to me either. Even here, he was still closed off. He was like a goddamn zombie or a ghost, barely existing."

"I know, that's why I'd come down to get him one day. I was going to take him home, put him in that hospital like the doctor's wanted. I would've done anything I had to to save him from himself, " John cleared his throat of the emotion building there. "But when I got to the clubhouse, Piney told me everything was fine. He took me inside and there was Stiles, sitting at the table, eating apple slices and chatting with some skinny kid I'd never met."

"Yeah, Piney kind of handed Juice to Stiles like he was a broken toy to fix," Hindsight, they probably shouldn't have left a little kid alone with a strung-out teenager they barely knew, but it all worked out in the end. "Helping Juice assimilate to Charming, to the club, gave Stiles purpose, I guess. It gave him something to do besides cry. And Juice didn't know Claudia, didn't ask Stiles if he was okay every five minutes. He knew something had happened, he was delicate with Stiles, but not in a way that was noticeable to Stiles."

"Knowing Stiles was beginning to heal helped me grieve for Claudia. I’d kept my focus so much on him, that I couldn’t feel the loss of my wife," John confessed. “And when I finally did, I'm glad he wasn't there to see it, no child should have to see their parent in that kind of state."

"Mom never let me see it," Jax could clearly remember curling up with her and crying for Thomas, and later his father, but she never purposefully allowed him to see her tears. "She was so strong through all of it. I heard her once, though. I'd gotten up in the middle of the night to get something to drink, and I heard her crying, I found her in Tommy's room, curled up in his bed, holding his favorite stuffed animal, and just sobbing."

"You have to understand, we were raised in the generations where it was considered a weakness to show grief and sadness." John reminded him. "And we had children to care for, we couldn't be weak. We had to be strong, stronger than the grief, and that’s not easy."

"I know," Jax could still feel the grief of losing Thomas like it happened yesterday, the weight of Donna's and Dean's deaths hadn't fully settled yet, but when it did, he was sure it would cripple him. "I...I don't know how I'm supposed to do this with Abel."

"You'll figure it out." John assured him. "You've got no choice."

"No, you don't understand." Jax didn't think any of the parents in his life could, except maybe Opie. "Abel was crying this morning. He wouldn't stop. He just crying and crying and crying. And I didn't want to get up, I didn't want to hold him or change his diaper or feed him, or do whatever it was he needed me to do. I just wanted him to be quiet."

"But you got up anyway, didn't you?"

"No." He wished he could say that he'd pulled himself out of bed and soothed his child, but he didn't. "I just laid there and put a pillow over my head to muffle the noise. I let him cry until Gemma showed up and took care of him."

"Jackson, listen to me, okay," John reached over, taking Jax's hands in his and squeezing them comfortingly. "You had a bad morning, it’s to be expected after what you lost, but it's just one morning. Tomorrow, when Abel cries, you'll get up, you'll cradle him in your arms, you'll rock him--"

"I don't think I can," Jax's breath hitched as he voiced his fears. "I don't know if I can be what he needs. I don't know if I can be his father."

"Jax, you are his father," John said sternly. "You've spent months getting ready for him to come home so you could be his father."

"I thought Dean was going to be here with me," It helped, knowing he wouldn't be alone in raising his son, that Dean would be by his side, but now Dean was gone. "I don't know if I can do it without him."

"I raised Stiles alone for the first three years of his life, and we didn't have Claudia for long before we lost her. In theory, it should have been easier to go back to being a single parent when I'd been one before," John looked down at his wedding ring, twisting it on his finger. "But Claudia, she'd left a mark in our lives. It was the hardest thing in the world trying to navigate it all without her, but I did it. Stiles and I did it. It's hard and it's not fair, but you learn how to do it, because when you have a child, you don't get to just quit living."

"Abel's a baby, not a kid like Stiles was, like I was," That changed things considerably. "If I went away, just for a little while, he wouldn't notice or care so long as somebody was taking care of him."

"You planning on going somewhere?"

"It's something Opie and I are thinking about," They both wanted to go, to get away, but they had to settle some things first. "It wouldn't be for long. We just need to get our heads together."

"Jax, you and Opie--" John was abruptly cut off when the ringing of a cellphone cut through the air. "Do you need to get that?"

"Yeah, it's Half Sack. I told him to follow Piney," Jax huffed, answering the call. "What is it, Sack?"

_"Piney just walked into a Niners bar with a loaded gun."_

"Fuck." That was exactly why he had sent Sack to follow Piney to begin with, to prevent something like that. "Make sure he doesn't kill anybody. I'm on my way."

_"Got it."_

* * *

 

Stiles had no plans to stay in Beacon Hills any longer than he had to. He'd already vetoed the idea of going to the preserve to see what was going on with the search for the missing betas-- if only to avoid another kidnapping. The plan was to get what he needed from the house and go. He would've managed it too if Scott hadn't shown up while he was loading up the jeep.

"Hey," The wolf waved awkwardly as he walked up the driveway.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles wasn't trying to be a prick, he was just...tired, too tired to deal with anything werewolf-related.

"Derek told me about Dean...and Donna," Scott said sadly. "I'm so sorry, Stiles. I know how close you were to both of them."

"Yeah," Stiles swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. "Thanks."

"Look, I know things have been bad between us lately. We've both made mistakes," Scott acknowledged, maturely accepting responsibility for his part in it all. "But you're still my best friend, and I want you to know I'm here for you."

"T-Thanks. Thank y-you," Stiles stammered, unsure of how to respond. "I appreciate that, I do."

"I know this isn't really the time, but, um, I was think we could talk some time this summer-- really talk," Scott suggested, sounding hopeful. "We could work through everything, and by the time school starts back up we can be us again, you know, _Scott & Stiles_."

"Yeah," It'd be nice, after everything, to get back to some normality. "I'm, um, I'm gonna be busy taking care of Jax and the baby, but, uh, I'll find the time. We'll hang out and talk. I just...I gotta get through all this first, Donna and Dean. I gotta get Jax and Opie through it."

"No, I get it. You gotta take care of your family," Scott hesitated, before pulling Stiles into a hug. "Just call me when you're ready or if you just need a break from it all. We can just hang out, play video games like we used to, decompress for a while."

"Yeah, that'd be good," He might just to have to take him up on that. "Thanks, Scotty."

* * *

 

Half Sack was loitering outside the Niners bar like an idiot when Jax arrived. Jax could only glare as he passed him on his way into the bar. One of Laroy's guys led him to the back where Piney was seated in a booth, gun trained on Laroy sitting beside him.

"Shit," Jax muttered under his breath as he slid into the booth. "Crazy old man."

"This doesn't involve you, Jax," Piney snapped, gaze never leaving Laroy. "One of these assholes killed Donna, and I'm gonna make that right."

"What the hell is he talking about?" Laroy asked, appearing more annoyed than bothered by the old man's threats.

"I get him to put down the revolver," Jax placed a hand over the barrel of the gun. "You promise we walk out of here alive?"

"Yeah." Laroy’s easy agreement only upped Jax's suspicions about his involvement in Donna's death, or lack there of.

"Put the gun down, Piney," Jax hoped the old man would fall in line without much of a fight.

"No, no, no, no," Piney shook his head. "I ain't leavin' till the son of a bitch who killed Donna is dead!"

"All right," Jax sighed before elbowing the old man in the gut and taking the gun by force.

"Oh," Piney groaned, rubbing his stomach. "Shithead."

"Look, the noise we made at the Mayan gun sale is about how pissed off we are," Laroy explained, getting right down to business. "But if we wanted your cracker asses dead--"

"Someone went after one of my guys last night," Jax retorted before Piney could start spouting off shit that would probably get them killed. "Got his wife instead, gunned her down at a stop light."

"Wasn't us." Laroy said with a shrug.

"We're just supposed to take your word for it?" Jax scoffed, he didn't believe Laroy was guilty, but Piney did, and if that was going to change, they needed proof. "Because you're such an honorable man?"

"Our business issues still need to be worked out," Laroy remarked. "But if my need to hurt SAMCRO took me to Charming, had me killin' woman...do you think we'd be sittin' here talking? I'm tellin' you the truth. Niners didn't kill your guy’s old lady. Now, I suggest you boys find your way back home quickly."

"Yeah," Jax agreed, nudging Piney out of the booth. "Let's go, old man."

Piney didn't say anything, but obediently followed Jax out of the bar. Jax figured he was digesting what Laroy had said, finding the truth in his words.

"I believe Laroy," Jax told the old man, hoping he would believe him too. "If they had killed Donna, they would have shot you the moment you stepped into the bar."

"Someone wants us to think it was the Niners," Piney deduced, adding the new information to what little they already had. "Why? Why her? Why Opie?"

"I don't know, Piney," He had his theories, but he couldn't give them to the old man without risking him flying off the handle. "I'll figure it out."

"You figure it out, you bring it to me first," The old man ordered as his cellphone pinged. "I've got a message here."

"Since when do you text?" Jax was surprised the old man could even work a cellphone to make a call, let alone type out a message.

"I don't, this is a one time thing," Piney grumbled as he opened the text message. "He got me address. I gotta go."

"Hold up," Jax grabbed the old man by the arm to keep him from going anywhere. "An address for what?"

"For the bastard who mangled your brother's face," Piney spit out, wrenching his arm out of Jax's grip. "I guess you didn't notice before you threw him out of the house last night."

"I didn't throw him out," He was a little surprised that his treatment of Stiles had made the rounds through the club already. "What happened to him?"

"He got beaten to hell. You saw him, what did you think happened?" Piney groused, giving Jax a look that suggested he was the lowest form of stupid. "I've got a location on one of the sons of bitches, and I'm gonna go deal with him."

"No, you're not," If anyone would retaliate against the bastard who hurt Stiles, it was going to be Jax. "He's my brother, I'll take care of it."

"No. What you are going to do is find the bastard who murdered my daughter," Piney snarled. "I will handle Gerard."

"Piney—"

"Find out who killed Donna, Jackson."

* * *

 

Stiles wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself after his trip to Beacon Hills. He wasn’t keen on being alone, but he didn’t have many places to go. His dad had some kind of meeting to attend in Beacon Hills, Jax didn’t want to see him, and he was trying to give Opie space to be with his children. That really only left him one person: Juice.

He found the Son at the clubhouse, per usual. He was sitting at the bar, eyes glued on the laptop screen in front of him. There was something off about him, though, he was nervous, fidgety, biting his nails, setting off all kinds of bells in Stiles head.

"Hey," Stiles greeted, approaching the anxious man. "What's wrong?"

"What? Nothing," Juice lied as he continued gnawing away on his fingers. "What are you doing here? I figured you'd be with Jax or Opie."

"Opie has enough people crowding him, and Jax doesn't want to see me." Stiles would have loved to be with his brothers, but they didn’t want him, and he was trying to respect their wishes. "And I wanted to see you."

"Any particular reason why?" Juice asked sheepishly, suddenly shy.

"Just wanted to see you." After his trip to Beacon Hills he just felt a pull toward Juice. "Why are you fidgeting? What's going on? And don't say nothing. You saying nothing, I'll just take your laptop and find out for myself."

"It's club shit," Juice shifted to block his computer screen. "I think Jax needs to know about it."

"Jax isn't up for dealing with club bullshit, you get me instead," Stiles was more than equipped to handle Jax's club duties. "What's got you spooked?"

"I can't--"

"Because I'm not SAMCRO? Well, tough shit," He would have to make an exception for Stiles, just this once. "It's got you freaked out, so its gotta be bad. You know you can trust me, so just say it."

"Bobby's lawyer, Rosen, said the feds had a witness to the murder he's locked up for," Juice revealed. "And the witness...they can identify Opie too."

"Shit." That was a hit the Winston family did not need. "Kenny and Ellie just lost their mom, they can't lose their dad too."

"Yeah, that's what we thought too. So we all voted to...to take out the witness so they can't testify," Naturally, SAMCRO’s first impulse was to murder the person just trying to do their civic duty. "But we didn't know.…"

"Didn't know what?"

"The witness...she's a seventeen, Stiles.”

"Christ," A girl his age was on SAMCRO's hit list, fabulous. "Who else have you told?"

"Tig, Happy, and Chibs headed for the safe house as soon as Oswald got us the address," Juice dropped his gaze to the floor in shame. "They don't know she's a kid."

"Well, we have to stop them," Some kid didn't deserve to die for trying to do the right thing. "Give me the address."

"I can't."

"Oh, fine," Stiles shoved Juice off the barstool and snatched the laptop. He scanned the open document as quickly as he could, committing it to memory. "Got it."

"Goddamn it, Stiles," Juice snapped at him uncharacteristically, and wrestled the laptop back. "You can't go out there."

"Well, someone has to." He wasn't going to let someone innocent be killed. "So, you can try to stop me or you can come with me."

"Jesus, fuck. You're gonna get us both killed," Juice exclaimed, slamming his laptop lid shut and grabbing his keys. "We'll take my bike. It's quicker."

* * *

 

Despite the increased security measures, the alarm system and steel doors, it wasn’t hard for John to get into the Argents house, not when his intention was for Chris to know he was there. He busted the back window and climbed through it, letting the alarm blare to life. He passed moving boxes in the hall and kitchen as he made his way to the basement-- the scene of the crime.

He found the closet beneath the stairs Stiles had told him about and took the chair from it, setting it up strategically in the middle of the room, and he waited. It wasn’t long before the alarm cut off, mere moments after being tripped. Heavy footsteps retraced John’s path to the basement, and the man attached to them was promptly greeted by a gun in his face when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Sheriff Stilinski, how nice of you to drop by," Chris smiled, as if he were here for a friendly chat. "You know, I've got a front door. You didn't have to break in. Breaking and entering is a crime."

"Well, then, you should call a cop, because there isn't one here," John hadn't officially accepted his job back at sheriff’s department yet, he waiting to settle this score first. "Sit down."

He waved the gun toward the same chair Chris had threatened his son in.

"You do know Allison will be home soon," Chris mentioned, taking a seat as instructed. "And she's made it clear she's not afraid to hurt people who hurt her family."

"Allison's and Jackson Whittemore are busy filling Lydia Martin in on what's really been going on in this town. That's going to be a long conversation." It would give John plenty of time to do what he came to do. "Threatening to sic your teenage daughter on someone is a very telling, you know? I guess without your sister or father around, you need someone else to do the dirty work, and Allison is in the perfect state of emotional turmoil to be manipulated."

"Allison is never going to be like my father or Kate," Chris said, sounding bored. "I already had this conversation with your son, before he stabbed me."

"I told you not to underestimate him," John hadn't taught Stiles how to defend himself just so he could forget his training when he truly needed it. "I also told you what I would do if you hurt him."

"Yes, you did," Chris smirked, relaxing back in his chair. "Can you blame me for not taking you seriously? You’re a bumbling small town sheriff, not much of a threat given my line of work."

"I'm a father before I'm a sheriff, before I'm anything else," The sheriff was fair, moral, respectful of the law. The father would do what was necessary to protect his child, that is what made him more dangerous. "My son came home bloodied and beaten at the hands of your family. You did that to him, here, in this basement."

"Ah, so this is symbolic," Chris nodded, glancing around the basement. "You know, bringing him here wasn't my idea, if that makes a difference."

“It wasn’t your idea, but you capitalized on it.”

"He was a means to an end."

"That is one of the big differences between you and me, I don't believe in hurting someone to get to someone else." John was raised to confront a problem head-on, not go around it like a coward. "I have a problem with someone, I take it to that person directly."

"Yeah, obviously," Chris huffed, rolling his eyes. "Can we get on with this? I still have to make funeral arrangements for my wife before Allison and I leave for the summer."

"I heard you like to play with electricity," John put his gun away and took one of Argent's taser sticks from the table behind him. "This looks like it has been modified--"

"It has," Chris went rigid at the sight of it, at the thought of what it could do. "It has enough voltage to subdue a werewolf."

"Well, I'm more of a hands-on guy, anyway. Weapons are very impersonal, they put a kind of barrier between you and your target." John set the taser aside and rolled up his sleeves. "But you use your fists, you feel bone crunch under your knuckles or blood soaking your skin, and it gets very personal. And this, this is as personal as it gets."

“Yeah, I’m starting to understand that.” Chris gulped. “Aren’t you going to restrain me first?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.”

* * *

 

"Hey, um," Stiles stopped Juice on the porch of the safe house. "Maybe you should wait out here."

"Uh, no," Juice shook his head. "This is club business, if anyone should be waiting out here it's you."

"Well, that's not going to happen," Stiles muttered, taking a pistol from his jacket pocket and checking the clip. "Look, you might hear somethings in there, things you're not expecting, that you'd never expect to hear."

"What does that mean?"

"It means this isn't just about the witness," Stiles wouldn't pretend his intentions here were pure or altruistic. "There are things Tig has to answer for, and I'm going to make sure he does, and I need you not to stop me."

"Stiles—"

"He killed Donna on Clay's order," Stiles blurted out. "You don't have to believe me, I don't expect you to. All you gotta do is listen. You'll hear the truth."

They were granted access to the house so easily that Stiles wondered briefly where the feds who were supposed to be protecting the girl were, then decided it was probably better if he didn't know. As they stepped in through the back door, he caught glimpses of Happy and Chibs in the dining room, before spotting Tig in the kitchen with a gun to the witnesses head. The girl's terrified sobs were audible even through the jacket covering her face, and had there been cuffs instead of duct-tape binding her wrists, they'd surely be rattling from the force of her frightened tremors.

Stiles wanted a quick end to this, to save the girl from further trauma. He slammed the door shut loudly, startling the girl, as well as the Sons present. Suddenly, all eyes and guns were trained on him and Juice, and, well, better them than the girl.

"Jesus!" Tig bellowed, relaxing only when he determined they weren't a threat. "You scared the shit out of me, guys."

"What the hell are you doing here, brother?" Chibs zeroed in on Juice. "What the hell were you thinking bringing the boy here?"

"We don't kill women or kids," Juice's eyes flickered to the witness. "She's both."

"Put the gun down, Tiggy," Stiles leveled his own gun at Tig's forehead. "Or I'll put a bullet in your head."

"What is this?" He heard Happy ask Chibs, who didn't seem to have an answer for him.

"Stiles," Juice pressed himself against Stiles back, whispering into his ear. "We're here to save a life, not take one."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Stiles hissed, turning his focus to Tig. "Put it down, Tig."

"You think you got the balls to do that, kiddo?" Tig chuckled condescendingly, but ultimately began to lower his gun. "All right."

"You two get out of here," Stiles ordered Chibs and Happy. "This is over. Get out."

"This wasn't the plan," Happy growled, not pleased with the interruption.

"Plans change," Juice said simply. "Trust us, okay? Just go home."

"You better be damn sure you know what you're doing, boys," Chibs nodded and gave Happy a nudge. "Let's go."

"JC," Stiles addressed Juice with his former nickname, not wanting to use his current moniker around the witness. "Get her out of here."

Rather than help the girl to her feet and take her outside to tell her how things needed to be, Juice crouched in front of the girl. He delicately removed the tape from her wrists, and took the jacket off her head, allowing her to see her captors.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," Juice assured the girl in soft tones. "But you see the oily haired guy? He's a bad guy. He wants to kill you, 'cause you're gonna rat on two of our friends. You can't do that, okay?"

"O-Okay." The witness nodded, face wet with tears. "Okay, I won't."

"The feds, the cops-- Nobody can protect you. That's obvious." Juice laid out of the facts for the girl, pointed out how easily they had gotten to her in protective custody. "If you testify, that bad guy will find you no matter where you are. And next time, no one will be there to save you. You understand?"

"I won't testify." She promised, voice tight with conviction. "I won't."

"Okay, take this," Juice pulled a couple hundreds out of his wallet and handed it to the girl. "You hop on a train, you catch a bus, I don't care. You get out of California _tonight_ or your dead."

"Okay." The girl nodded, shoving the money in her pocket. "I'll go."

"Good," Juice stood back to full height and helped the girl do the same. "Go."

The young woman didn't have to be told twice, she bolted from the house like her ass was on fire, leaving an irate Tig in her wake.

"You both just crossed a line." Tig sneered over the sound of a door slamming shut behind the terrified girl. "And, you know, Stiles, if you were anyone else, I would kill you where you stand."

"Yeah, I'm aware being the brother of your future king affords me certain privileges," If he could use that privilege to save someones life, then he would, and he wouldn't apologize for it. "I guess being the Devil's right-hand man has the same privilege. That's why you're still breathing after what you did to Donna."

"You don't know shit." Tig spit at him.

"I know Clay wouldn't pull the trigger on Opie himself. He'd need deniability, a scapegoat, in case it all went bad." Clay was smart, Stiles would give him that, smart and devious. "That's where you came in, his little trigger boy. If people found out it was a club hit, he'd just tell them he had nothing to do with it, you did it all on your own, believing you were protecting the club."

"Everything I do is for my club," Tig claimed. "And if you really believed I killed a brother's wife for whatever reason you've got floating around in that damaged head of yours, then you would've pulled the trigger already."

"The only reason I haven't killed you or taken your betrayal to Opie and Piney, is because I want you to suffer and for that I need you alive." If he wanted to bring down Clay, he would need Tig to do it. "And because I want to know why."

"Why?" Tig scoffed. "Why what?"

"Why her?" Stiles hands began to shake, the barrel of the gun moving with them. "Donna was innocent. She wasn't apart of this. Why did it have to be her?"

"Shit, kid," Tig bowed his head, scrubbing a hand over his face. "She wasn't supposed to be the one in truck. All right? Is that what you wanted to hear? It was supposed to be Opie."

As tears clouded his vision, Stiles began to lose his grip, his control. He pulled the hammer back on the gun, and his finger twitched over the trigger, ready to pull it.

"Stiles," Juice's cautious voice called out to him. "Stiles, don't."

"I need to," Every bone in his body was tremoring with the need to pull the trigger, to fill Tig full of lead as Tig had done to Donna. "Donna was innocent and he killed her. He deserves to pay for that."

"You're right, but it can't be you," Juice covered Stiles hands with his own on the gun. "Donna wouldn't want that, she wouldn't want you to spill blood in her name. That's not who she was."

"No, he...he can't...." Stiles faltered, adjusting the grip on the gun. "He can't get away with this. H-He doesn't get to win. I won't let him."

"We won't let him," Juice promised, stepping in front of him, blocking Tig from his sight. "We'll figure it out. You and me. I promise. Trust me."

Stiles looked into Juice's deep brown eyes and saw the honesty there, that Juice, unlike so many others, meant what he was saying. The honesty, the promise, prompted Stiles to release the gun to Juice, letting it slip pliantly into his hands. He sagged against Juice like a marionette with cut strings, the weight of the recent events suddenly crashing down on him all at once.

"S-She wasn't apart of this," Stiles sobbed, burying his face in the crook of Juice's neck. "She was innocent."

"I know. I know. It's okay," Juice tucked the gun into the back of his jeans and wrapped his arms around Stiles. "It's all right."

"Jesus Christ," Tig snorted derisively. "When Clay gets a load of this shit--"

"Unless you want the entire club to find out what you did to a members wife, you'll keep your mouth shut about this." Juice snarled, tightening his hold on Stiles protectively. "Got it?"

"Who knew all it took for Juicy-boy to grow a set of balls was his little girlfriend cracking up," Tiggy cackled, as if the situation he started when he killed Donna was humorous. "Fuck, man."

"Just get the hell out of here, Tig," Juice barked, gesturing to the door. "Chibs and Happy can clean this place up. You need to go."

"Oh yeah, I'll go," Tig agreed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "You just remember this little stunt when you show up at the clubhouse later."

* * *

 

" _’Beacon Hills Retirement Home,’_ " Piney read off the sign. "This is the place?"

"Chris dropped him off this morning," Peter confirmed, eyes scanning the immediate area for any threats. "Under an assumed name, of course."

"Uh huh," Piney reached into the car to the remove the shotgun from the backseat. "Is there a back way into this dump?"

"Oh, no, we can use the front door," Peter replied as they crossed the parking lot. "I think you'll find that the security cameras have malfunctioned, and night staff have all decided to take their lunch breaks at the diner down the road."

"Is that right?" Piney raised a brow. "They just left their patients all alone?"

"For the right amount of money, I'm sure I could have had them kill all their patients, but I was under the impression we were only here to kill one old bastard not dozens," Peter mused, flexing his claws. "Was I mistaken?"

"No," Piney wasn't the type to kill innocents just for the sake of killing people. "We're just here for Gerard."

"You know, I overheard Derek telling Scott about the murder of Stiles sister Donna," Peter mentioned as he pulled open the door to the old folk's home. "Your daughter, correct?"

"Yes," His heart constricted painfully in his chest at the thought of his daughter-in-law. "Why do you care?"

"Your killing Gerard for your own reasons, but it still helps right an injustice done to my family by his," Peter remarked as they started down the hall toward the living quarters. "So, if there is anyway for me to help you right an injustice done to your family, I hope you'll let me know."

"I’ll keep you in mind," If the club failed to act once they figured out who killed Donna, Piney would certainly turn to an outside source to help him with that problem. "Thanks."

"Vengeance doesn't bring the dead back to us, but it does make us feel better," Peter said, stopping in front of a closed door. "This is the one. I can small his wretched scent."

“That scent better not be decomp. I want to be the one to put him out of his misery,” Piney muttered, pushing open the door and finding a wheelchair-bound Gerard facing the window on the far wall. “Oh good, he’s still alive.”

"I didn't think I'd be getting visitors so soon," Gerard brought his wheelchair around so he could see them. "Peter Hale, I can't say I'm surprised. Who's your friend?"

"This is Mr. Winston," Peter introduced him. "He'll be your executioner this evening."

"Ah," Gerard eyed Piney curiously. "Well, tell me, Mr. Winston, what I have done to earn your malice?"

"The Stilinski boy," Peter started, answering for him. "He belongs to him."

"Oh, I see," Gerard smiled, amused by the new fact. "For someone who appears so alone, the Stilinski boy seems to belong to a good number of people."

"The boy may not have a lot of blood to his name, but he's got a lot of family." Piney was just one member in a long-line of extended family of the Stilinskis. "You can imagine how one of us feels when he comes home beaten by a family who'd been warned to keep their distance."

"He was just a pawn in a game of chess. He came out of fine." Gerard brushed off the claim of any wrong doing. "In your line of work I'm sure you've done similar things to get what you wanted."

"No, you see, when someone in my club pulled a move like that when Johnny was a boy to get to his daddy, I put a stop to it." As soon as he'd learned his club was behind the disappearance, Piney had gone up to cabin to get the boy himself and returned him to his father. "I made a mistake that day, though, I let the men who did it live when I shouldn't have, and the one still breathing has only gotten more brutal. So I won't be making that mistake again."

Piney raised the rifle and fired a single shot into Gerard's chest. The old man was already weak, still suffering the effects of the mountain ash and rejecting the bite, that the gunshot might have been overkill, but it insured the job was done.

"Singer and the Winchesters salt and burn the bones to make sure there's chance of resurrection or a vengeful spirit," Piney told the wolf at his side. "We'll need to take the same precaution."

"I'll take care of it," Peter assured him. "You should get home to your family."

* * *

 

When they had finished things at the safe house, and Stiles had pulled himself together, he'd refused to let Juice return to the clubhouse. It was far too dangerous when emotions were running high and certain club members were feeling bloodthirsty after being denied a kill. The only safe place Stiles could think for the both of them was with his dad.

Luckily, they'd found the older Stilinski had returned to the house when they arrived. He'd been seated at the kitchen table with a first aid kit laid out in front of him, doing a piss-poor job of tending to his bruised, cracked, bloodied knuckles. Juice had taken pity on him and began patching him up himself, while Stiles curled up on the couch with nothing better to do.

"I'm not a doctor, but I don't think anything's broken," Juice said as he wrapped gauze around John's hands. "So, what's the other guy look like?"

"Hamburger meat," John didn't mince words. "But he's still breathing and I believe he got the message this time, so that's all that matters."

"Yeah, no doubt," Juice nodded slowly, shifting his gaze to Stiles. "The last piece of your puzzle just fell into place for me."

"Yeah, it ain't all Gem," Stiles murmured, burrowing deeper into his hoodie. "I get some of the morally objectionable stuff from him too."

"I see that now."

The screech of rusty hinges brought their attention to the front door. Jax let himself in, looking worn and haggard, but better than he had the night before.

"Looks like everyone decided to get their licks in today," Jax noted, staring pointedly at John's bandaged knuckles before flickering his eyes between Stiles and Juice. "You two in particular have been busy tempting fate. Tig, Chibs, and Happy have all messaged me to bitch about you."

"It's not Juice's fault," Stiles jumped to his friend's defense. "He only went to protect me."

"I couldn't let him go alone," Juice added. "Tig would've killed him-- or tried to."

"I'd ask, but it's probably better if I don't know," John mumbled, adjusting an ice pack on his hand. "So long as there's know blow back--"

"They're clear. I covered for them," Jax assured the older man. "I said they were working under my orders."

"Okay, good," John sighed, relieved. "Then as long as no one died, I can remain in ignorant bliss."

"Yeah," Jax agreed as he kicked the heel of Stiles shoe with his own. "Wanna come talk to me outside for a minute?"

"Sure."

Stiles stood from the couch and followed his brother to the front porch. He couldn't help but feel nervous, like a child about to be grounded for something he definitely did wrong.

"Opie's going away for while, to get his head straight and all that," Jax mentioned, taking a pack of smokes from his pocket and lighting one up. "I thought I might go with him."

"Might be a good idea," Although Stiles couldn't say he was thrilled by the idea of his brothers going off on their own while they were grieving. "What about the kids?"

"Piney and Mary are gonna look after Kenny and Ellie," Jax responded, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Thought you and Mom could take turns with Abel."

"Okay." Looking after his nephew was the least he could do at this point. "I've got him."

"We're going to leave after the funeral. We'd go sooner, but...Opie needs to see Donna put to rest," Jax said sadly. "Do you...Do you know where Dean is? Do you know where they left him...after?"

"No, but I can find out," He'd do anything to help his brother find closure. "I can do that for you."

"Thanks," Jax relaxed knowing he'd get to say his own goodbyes. "And, hey, I'll handle this Clay stuff when Opie and I get back."

"Jax--"

"You are going to keep the peace on that front while I'm gone," Jax squeezed his shoulder firmly, subtly letting him know it wasn't a suggestion. "Don't go starting any fires."

"No fires. Got it." Stiles nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets and slumping his shoulders, trying to appear smaller, innocent. "Jax, are you...are you still mad at me?"

"No, Stiles," Jax huffed, draping an around his little brother and pulling him close, as if to prove that point. "I was never mad at you. I was just...angry, more at the world than you."

"It'd be okay if you were mad at me," As much as it hurt, Stiles knew he deserved Jax's anger, his hate. "I kept Dean's secret from you. I know I shouldn't have."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you did it to protect me, not to hurt me," Jax acknowledged sullenly. "It was...a deal, right? That's what killed him?"

"Yeah, it was," Stiles didn't need to tell Jax why the deal was made, Jax was smart enough to know there was only one person Dean would make the sacrifice for. "How'd you know?"

"Little things I picked up on the last few months," Jax shrugged his shoulders. "His nightmares are what confirmed my suspicions, though."

"I'm sorry, Jax," Stiles ducked his head, ashamed of the part he played in Dean's death. "I'm sorry we didn't find a way to save him."

"It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. If there was a way, you guys would've found it." Jax took another drag from his smoke and stared up at the moon. "And it's okay, because it's not over. He might be gone now, but it won't be forever."

"He's not _gone_ , Jackson," The term gone was too broad, implied it was a temporary situation when in fact it was permanent. "H-He's dead. He died."

"I know that. He died, they buried him, but none of that matters because he's gonna come back." Jax said confidently. "Somehow, some way, he'll find his way back. I know he will."

"How do you know?"

"Because...this can't be how it ends."

* * *

 

Donna's funeral was a club affair, there was no way around that. A member's wife had been brutally killed, that brought every charter on the west coast to Charming's doorstep. The increased presence wasn't a sign of respect for Donna, but rather a show of force meant to strike fear into those responsible for her death. The intimidation tactic might have worked, has those not involved been weren't currently hidden in plain sight among the mourners.

It wasn't hard for Gemma to figure out the truth when she knew how Clay's mind worked. She'd confronted him about it the previous morning, the turmoil and guilt on his face had given him away before he could cop to it. She'd taken his verbal confirmation in stride, said all the right things to get her husband back in the head-space he needed to be to keep the club together, to be who the club needed him to be, whether it had worked still remained to be seen.

Clay sat stoically at her side, gaze locked on the closed casket of the woman he helped murder. He hadn't said much to anyone, only offering the bare minimum of condolences to the grieving family when they'd arrived. She was sure by the time the service was finished, he'd have a rousing speech for the visiting charters about how the Niners crossed a line when they murdered Donna, and vengeance would be swift and bloody. Yeah, Clay would pull himself together by the time that casket was lowered into the ground.

Tiggy, on the other hand, was another story entirely. The Sergeant at Arms tried so hard to be unemotional like the club president he was so loyal to, but the anger radiating off him belied that. He was stewing in his rage, eyes boring into those he now deemed the enemy. And if looks could kill, Juice and Stiles would be dead ten times over by now, a fitting punishment for their crimes, in Tig's mind at least.

Juice, so rarely defiant, had followed Stiles into danger so easily, and now appeared to be taking his side over that of a brother. His fingers were wrapped around Stiles wrist, index and middle pressing against his pulse point. It was a small gesture, unnoticeable unless you were looking for it, and Gemma was. She wondered if Juice understood the reality of the choice he was making by pulling that move here, surrounded by so many charters. To Juice, it was a gesture of comfort, to them it was a claim of ownership. If Juice didn't get it, Stiles surely did, he understood SAMCRO and its customs better than most, a hazard of growing up within it.

Stiles never had to be told what SAMCRO was or how it worked, he just knew. He watched when they thought his eyes were closed and listened when they believed he was out of earshot. He soaked up anything and everything SAMCRO said and did, and filed it away to be used at a later date.

Stiles knew things about the club that would get lesser people killed, and he wielded it like a weapon. And if information was his sword, then Gemma and Jax were most definitely his shield. He belonged them as a son and a brother, that made him nearly untouchable. Unfortunately, Stiles was under the impression he was invincible, and if he kept pushing buttons, sticking his nose where it didn't belong, he was going to learn very quickly that wasn't the case, and Gemma couldn't let it get that far.

She was in a precarious position with Stiles and his determination to bring Clay down. Stopping him would require divine intervention, an act of god, or perhaps just a mother's will. She could force him out, out of Charming, out of their lives, but that hadn't worked when he was an infant, and with Abel in the picture now it'd be damn near impossible. If she couldn't push him out, she'd have to pull him close, closer than he'd ever been. She’d gain his trust, make it so his loyalty to her was stronger than his moral imperative to seek justice for the wronged.

"Mom," Jax leaned in to whisper lowly in his ear. "Stop plotting. We're at a funeral for fuck sake."

"What?" She scowled at her eldest son. "What're you talking about?"

"You've been leering at Stiles and Juice like you want to eat them," Jax pointed out. "It usually means you're up to something."

"I'm not," She huffed averting her gaze in the opposite direction of her youngest son. "What they started with Tig is dangerous. I'm not plotting, I'm worried."

"Don't be," Jax patted her leg reassuringly. "Tig's not in the position to make a move against them, no matter how badly they pissed him off."

"I hope you're right," She murmured. "I wish you'd stay and look out for them, instead of leaving with Opie."

She wasn't surprised when Jax had told her he had to go. He was his father's son, after all. JT's grief had taken him to some dark places, so had hers, it was only natural their son's would do the same.

"I can't stay, Mom," Jax ducked his head and began fidgeting with the hem of his kutte like an anxious child. "Opie can't be out there alone, and I need...I need to see Dean, to see where they left him. I need to...to see him again."

Jax wore his grief for Dean openly. He didn't hide it, didn't shy away from it. Maybe it was because it was so strong, he couldn't fight it, or maybe it was his way of showing Opie that it was okay to be sad, to be so devastated by loss that you couldn't hold it back.

Jax and Opie were the same now more than ever. Their lovers had been ripped away, suddenly and violently in the middle of the night, patching them into new club, one no one should have to join until they were old and gray. And their first instinct, their answer to loss, was to runaway, to leave everything they knew behind.

One thing she knew for certain was that Donna and Dean's untimely deaths and Jax and Opie's choice to leave, signaled a significant change for everyone. Life as they knew it had been stolen from them, destroyed beyond recognition. All that was left to do was sift through the wreckage and try to return to some semblance of normalcy. It would get worse before it got better, but it would get better...it had to.

"It'll settle," Gemma told herself, folding her hands neatly over her lap. "It always does."

* * *

 

The reaper table in the chapel had been with the club since its inception, one of the First Nine had carved it from a redwood tree. The years hadn't been kind to it, it'd been scorched by cigarettes and cigars, dinged and scratched from brawls, and stained with blood and cum from rowdy parties. In a way, the table represented the clubs journey, how it started out as a simple idea, flourished into a brotherhood, until poor decisions and questionable management had left it damaged in ways that weren't easily repaired.

One day, Stiles was going to soak it in kerosene, set it ablaze, and watch it burn, with any luck it'd take the whole clubhouse with it. With the flames, he would cleanse the evil from Charming, from those who wore the reaper like some badge of honor, set things right again. For now, though, he was content to sit at the gavel and wait for reigning king to arrive to see the threat on his throne.

Clay didn't disappoint. The moment he stepped into the chapel to see his wife's bastard in his chair, he looked down right murderous. It wasn't enough that Stiles was in his chapel, but to sit in the president’s seat as if it were his own was a capital offense for someone without a patch.

"Despite what Gemma and your brother may think, you will never have a seat at this table," Clay started, the tick in his clenched jaw a sign of barely contained anger. "Move."

"I don't want a seat at the table, Clay," Stiles skimmed his fingers along the gavel, testing the weight of it in his hand. "But I will take yours."

"Is that right?" Clay chuckled, deep and throaty, as if he thought Stiles was joking. "Jax is the heir apparent. You gonna try to usurp him?"

"Oh, no, you misunderstand me. This isn't about becoming king," Stiles had no intention of patching SAMCRO let alone vying for the president's chair. "This is about taking the one thing you love away from you."

"You think you can take this club from me?" Clay smirked. "Kid, you are way out of your element, and because I love your mother, I'm going to give you one chance to rethink whatever it is you've got going here."

"I don't think so," Stiles had never felt so certain about anything as he did about his decision to bring his stepfather to his knees. "I know what you did, Clay, and if you think I'll just let you get away with it, then you are crazier than I thought."

"All right, I'll bite. What did I do?" Clay raised a brow, waiting expectantly for the answer. "What did I do that's got the bastard prince's panties in a twist?"

"You killed Donna," Stiles tightened his grip on the gavel as he fought to remain in control of himself. "Well, you had your trigger boy do it. You needed plausible deniability."

"You have a very active imagination," Clay claimed, but the sudden tense set of his shoulders and clenching of his fists gave away far more than he probably wanted. "A couple bangers killed Donna."

"Your mindless drones might believe that now, when all the only piece of evidence is a black Rover, but when the full truth comes out, when they know what really happened….They'll see you and this club for what you really are," Loyalties would be put to the test, and lifelong friendships would be broken. "After that, it's only a matter of time before it implodes on itself. It'll be one betrayal after another until SAMCRO wipes itself off the map and is nothing more a cautionary tale outlaws tell their prospects."

"You know, you remind me of your grandfather," Clay mentioned, sliding into the chair usually reserved for the Sergeant at Arms. "He was a pain in the ass, too. He refused to accept things how things had to be, and I think we all know where that got him."

"You don't scare me, Clay," Stiles was painfully aware of what Clay was capable of, more so now than ever, but the man still couldn't make him quake in his sneakers. "You're too predictable to be feared."

"Well, you never know, Nathaniel, I just might surprise you."

"You love this club. It's been your entire life since you were, what, eighteen? You can still save it. Your betrayal does not have to destroy it," Stiles was open to negotiations, the king for the club, for example. "Confess. Give your brothers the truth, explain yourself, be honest about the mistake you made. Let them decide where to go from there. That is only way the club comes out of this whole. Confess, _Clarence_."

"And if I don't?" Clay tilted his head, a wry smile on his lips. "You gonna kill me?"

"No," He wouldn't paint his hands red in Donna's name, Juice was right, she wouldn't want that, not from him. "Like I said, I'm going to take the one thing you love from you: SAMCRO. You confess, I'll leave it be. You stay quiet, and I'll destroy it, piece by piece. It'll take time, but I can be patient."

"My club is not yours to toy with," Clay growled, narrowing his eyes. "You touch it, I will put you in the ground beside your grandfather."

"You'll try, and wouldn't that be something? This war that's been brewing since before I was born will come down to the two of us," Stiles didn't fear that day, even if it brought about his own demise, he welcomed it, because if he was going down, he would be taking Clay with him. "Let's be real, whether it be over the club or something else, this can only ever end one way between us, Clay."

Seemingly tired of listening to what he probably considered empty threats, Clay put his hands on the table to push himself up and out of his chair. He reared back suddenly, balking when his hands came into a contact with a wet substance.

"What...?" Clay brings his hand to his nose, sniffing his fingers, and cringing at the scent wafting off them. "Gas?"

With a party to honor Donna's memory in full swing, one day had come sooner than either of them realized. It had been easy for Stiles to slip past club members and croweaters to get into the chapel, no one had batted a lash at his presence even with a gas can in hand. He had doused the table generously, covering every inch of it with accelerant.

He couldn’t say for sure what really set him off, maybe it was his confrontation with Tig the previous night, or seeing Donna’s casket be lowered into the ground while her children wept. Maybe it was the sight of Jax and Opie riding off in the distance, Sam following close behind in the Impala, or Clay's continuous denial of any wrongdoings. Maybe all of it contributed to Stiles finally striking the match and dropping it atop the smiling reaper, setting it ablaze while its leader watched in horror.

"What the hell is this?" Clay snarled, grabbing Stiles by the shirt collar. "What is this?"

"You really don’t get it, do you?" Stiles sighed, eyes dancing along with the flames on the sacred table. "This is the beginning or the end, it's your choice."


End file.
